


Cicatrix

by Aussi18



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Enchanted Forest, Blood and Gore, Dark Evil Queen | Regina Mills, Dark Robin Hood, Dubious Morality, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Jealous Robin Hood, Minor Character Death, POV Evil Queen | Regina Mills, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-08-25 13:20:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 42,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16661781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aussi18/pseuds/Aussi18
Summary: Dark OQ - AU Enchanted Forest with multiple liberties taken.Snow White’s betrayal has cost Regina everything that matters. Will the Evil Queen find the strength she needs to defeat the girl once and for all? And if she were to want it, is happiness even possible after suffering such great loss?





	1. Cicatrix

**Author's Note:**

> This story is complete and all chapters will be posted as quickly as possible - I will not leave you hanging.
> 
> Dark OQ - or at the very least, I'd classify them as "Chaotic Neutral" with dalliances to both the good and evil sides of the spectrum. If you're Team Snow White, I suggest you back away slowly lol.
> 
> Character deaths do not apply to Robin, Regina, or Roland.
> 
> This is Dark OQ for a reason, and there’s some sensitive material here - I’ll try to trigger warn at the top of the chapter but obvi can’t account for everyone’s triggers. So please remember that you have been warned.
> 
> Robin has a filthy mouth and he’s going to do sexy, dirty things to Regina (all of which she will like) - if that's not your thing, turn back now.
> 
> AU Enchanted Forest where I kept what I liked and changed what I didn't. There was no First Curse. No mention of the Dark One. No Storybrook.
> 
> A few lines of dialogue or pieces of scenes may be familiar (e.g. similar to the script). I do not pretend to own those or take any credit for them, I just liked the way they fit. I make no money on this, it's all purely for fun. Please don't sue me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cic·a·trix
> 
> noun
> 
> The scar of a healed wound.


	2. The Grief

 

 

Chapter One - The Grief

 

 

It has been four years since her life was ruined.

Four years, but it feels like four seconds.

The pain is still fresh - a clawing, scraping sting against her charred heart - a heart that she continues to blacken every day that Snow White draws breath.

Because it seems that killing the man she loved _and_ her unborn child was not enough for Snow. Oh no, not nearly enough. Now she’s after Regina’s throne - continuously seeks to throw her from power, causing distrust and rebellion throughout multiple kingdoms on her quest to claim rights to her selfish entitlement.

If Regina ever gets her alone, there will be no man, no magic powerful enough to stop her from wringing the life from the girl with her bare hands. She has envisioned the moment many times, thought intently about how she would do it, and for quite awhile she thought she would pull Snow’s heart from her chest and crush it to ash before her eyes.

But Regina thinks now that that is much too merciful.

No, the _Evil_ Queen can do better than that.

She will snuff the life from Snow White little by little, as slowly as possible, ensuring the sniveling brat feels herself dying, feels the life slowly leaking from her body as Regina cuts, and rips, and tears it from her. Regina wants it to take _years_ for the girl to finally die, broken and alone. It’s only fair that she give back the hand she was so carelessly dealt.

 

  
In these four, debilitating years, Regina has not used her magic.

At all.

Not once.

Magic wasn’t able to save Daniel. Wasn’t able to save her son, Henry. So what good was it?

Tonight is the full moon, and she needs to leave soon to make it to Granny’s on time. She has an additional package for her this evening, needs to bring an extra horse along in order to carry the weight of it, and she can’t chance being late. She’s been late before, once - and things were much messier than Regina cares to witness again.

She changes into pants and an elegant dark red riding jacket - she hates riding in skirts - and then she heads to the courtyard. The horses have been brought up, both packages tied to the spare, Rocinante showing his age a little around his ears and muzzle, the gray reminding her that he too will leave her one day - sooner rather than later. But he is sound and perfect despite his age - Regina makes sure of this, always - and as long as he is able, she will have no other mount.

She brings no guards with her. They are unnecessary.

And even if they were, she still would not bring them.

Villagers from far and wide are well aware that the Enchanted Forest is particularly dangerous on the full moon, and oh - _if they only knew_. The fear is advantageous, as fear usually is - it keeps the roads clear for the queen this evening as she trots through the town and on, allows her progress to be unhindered and her mind to calm as she rides.

Atop Rocinante is the only place she ever feels calm, feels the sting of her loss lessen just enough so that she might find enjoyment in the activity were she to want it.

But she does not want it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Regina arrives at Granny’s just as dusk begins to settle. She rides out into the meadow nearby with the spare horse, meets Granny with a nod and drops down from Rocinante in a movement that is quick and well practiced.

The two women work swiftly to untie the packages, letting them slide off the side of the palomino, the weight of them heavy as they thump to the ground. Together, they drag both packages to the large oak tree, securing them to it with chains that expel flakes of dried blood into the soft breeze as they string them around tightly and lock them.

Granny double checks that everything is secure, then leans forward quickly and pulls off the sacks that cover the heads of both dwarves.

“Collusion,” Regina stares blankly at them, her voice flat, “is a capital offense against the crown.”

Their mouths are gagged, but even so, she expects no response from them. They have spent a few days in her dungeons - Regina is confident that if they had secrets to tell, they have already told them.

Granny squints at the two men over the top of her glasses, frowning disapprovingly. She leans forward, draws her dagger from her belt, and makes a few shallow cuts on each of them. She wipes the blade thoroughly on the ground, ridding it of the fresh blood. Then both women turn and hoist up onto their mounts, Granny taking the spare, and they waste no time kicking the animals into a gallop all the way back to Granny’s cabin.

It won’t be long now.

They put the horses up in the barn, not bothering with removing the tack - there is no time for that. Granny locks up the barn and they make their way to the cabin to wait out the evening as has become their tradition.

Once inside, Regina bolts the door, walks the perimeter of the room and double checks the locks on the windows. Granny pulls her giant crossbow from the wall and cranks the line, cocking the bow as the limbs of it strain and flex. She places a large silver headed bolt in the flight groove, and then she takes a seat in her rocking chair near the fire.

Regina takes her place in a large, wingback chair on the opposite side of the hearth, noticing the small table next to her is prepared for her visit as usual - apple turnovers and a large glass of triple distilled vodka. She crosses her legs, leans back in the chair, lifts the glass and takes a large swallow of the clear liquor.

It burns as it goes down, but she doesn’t cringe.

The women sit in silence as Granny’s clock _tick-tick-tick'_ s nearby. They wait patiently, knowing it will come, any minute now, it will come. It always does.

  
The howl splits the night in two, the loud, long note hanging on the cold spring air.

 

Neither woman jumps.

Granny begins rocking slowly, staring into the fire. Regina tips the glass to her lips again, taking down half the remaining liquid. It warms her belly as it descends, and she takes a bite of the turnover that Granny has made for her.

The front door rattles, the sound of mad scratching accompanying the movement and then the snuffling of the beast as it searches for what it desires. It circles the cabin, and then releases another loud howl as it catches the scent it so badly craves - blood.

The thundering footsteps of the beast fade, and Regina takes another sip of the vodka. The turnover is still warm in her fingers as the screaming starts.

 

 

It tapers off before she makes it to the second pastry. She tips her head back and drains her glass.

There is a sudden pounding on the front door - not the pounding of the beast, but of a fist, and it is urgent.

Granny’s eyes snap to Regina’s. They have a decision to make, it seems.

A man’s voice, more quiet and calm than Regina expected, calls through the door.

“Please,” he says, and she notes his unusual accent, “my child is with me.”

Regina clenches her teeth. It is a bad idea to open the door, they do not know where the beast is now, it could well be on its way back to the cabin. It wouldn’t be the first time it circled back on them.

She glances up to see Granny staring hard at her, and Regina swallows down the last bite of her first turnover.

Granny tilts her head, lips pursed, and Regina arches an eyebrow then nods - too many children have been swallowed up by this world - tonight they will stop it from taking another.

They rise simultaneously and Regina takes the lead, Granny standing back behind her with the bow at the ready, in case the beast tries to come through with the guests.

Regina unbolts the door and flings it wide in one quick movement, snapping, “Get in,” before it is even fully open.

The man hesitates, grasping his son by the back of the collar and jerking him back as the boy makes to enter.

His eyes meet hers and he says, “Fuck.”

Regina smirks, it is obvious he recognizes her though she does not know him. “The wolf, or the witch,” she says quietly, “what will it be?”

The man stands a little straighter, his hand lets go of his boy’s shirt, and the young child bolts inside. The man steps backward off the porch, his eyes hot on Regina, raking her up and down, and she feels a shiver run the length of her spine. Then he turns calmly and and jogs off into the trees.

Regina closes the door and bolts it, then turns to see the boy huddled by the fire, shivering with cold or with fear, she can’t quite tell. Perhaps it is both.

He’s young, four or five years old, she guesses. Would be Henry’s age.

Her eyes burn suddenly and she snaps her shoulders up, straightening her spine as she collects herself. She makes her way back to her chair quietly as Granny resumes her place in the rocker.

The boy is quiet and well-mannered, at least. He does not move from his spot - small knees tucked into his chest as he curls up tightly in front of the fire - and Regina feels an unwanted flicker of affection course through her.

“What is your name, boy?” Granny asks, breaking the tense silence. The boy’s brown eyes are wide and frightened, a mop of dark curls falling into them as he tilts his head toward the old woman, not moving from his place on the floor.

“Roland,” he whispers with his father’s accent, and Regina thinks it might have exhausted his courage to summon the reply.

She cocks her head and looks him over. She thinks he must recognize her - it is warm in the cabin - his shivering can only be from fear.

“Are you hungry, Roland?” Granny asks him, and he perks up a little at that, lifts his head from his knees to nod with enthusiasm.

“The queen has an extra turnover,” Granny says, and Regina’s eyes snap to her, “I’m sure if you ask her nicely, she will be willing to share it with you.” There is a look in the old woman’s sharp eyes that Regina doesn’t care for. She does not enjoy being trifled with.

The boy turns his wide eyes to Regina, and yes, he definitely recognizes her. His little face pales as he gets to his knees before her, and he bows his head dutifully as he whispers, asks her, “Please, Your Majesty?”

Something inside of Regina breaks open, and there is this acute feeling of warmth that rushes through her blood. Like the rush of magic, but without the cost that always comes with it.

She leans forward, placing her fingertips under the boy’s chin to raise his head to her, and when her skin makes contact with his, his shivers cease.

“Do you like apples, Roland?” she asks quietly, and she has the sudden urge to eradicate his fear of her.

“Yes, Majesty, it’s my favorite,” he replies quietly, and the color has begun to return to his cheeks.

She dips her head a little, gaining eye contact with him. “Then you are in luck,” she says, holding the extra turnover out to him, “it’s my favorite too,” she gives him a little smile, keeps her voice extra, extra soft.

He takes the turnover from her carefully and grins up at her. His dimples are deep and his whole face lights up as he takes the food.

He is adorable.

 

Her heart throbs with the loss of her own boy, and the pain is sharp in her chest - so acute that she can’t quite catch her next breath, starts to panic, her face flushing hot, and then Granny snaps at her, “Breathe, girl.”

Regina stands quickly and sucks in a deep, heaving breath. Weakness, she thinks. Such weakness.

She strides from the room and finds the bottle of vodka on a shelf in the kitchen, pours three fingers worth into a new glass and throws it back quickly. Pours another, and then another, until she feels Granny’s hand land softly on top of hers. Regina is shaking.

“Enough,” Granny says, and she nods, agreeing. Enough. _Enough_.

Regina takes two deep breaths, her chest expanding and contracting as she forcefully calms herself.

Granny says softly, _sternly_ , “The loss of a child is a wound that never heals, don’t let anyone tell you different. But you can’t let it fester - you’ve got to find a way to wear the scar without bleeding out on the inside, girl.”

Regina lifts her head and stares hard into Granny’s sharp green eyes. Her temper starts to flare, but then Granny pats her cheek a little roughly and nods, and for some reason that simmers her back down, so they return to the living area and once again take up their post.

Roland has finished his turnover and is curled back up in front of the hearth. He is closer to Regina now, his back to her as he fidgets and wrings his little hands in front of him and watches the flames.

There is a sudden < _crash_ > against the front door, and the boy startles badly, scooting backwards toward Regina, as frightened tears spring to his eyes. The beast claws and scratches at the door, making terrible, growling, huffing noises, and Roland begins to tremble next to her.

She doesn’t know why she does it, perhaps it’s the vodka - she doesn’t recall making the decision to do it - but suddenly she is pulling him into her lap, his little arms wrapping tightly around her as he buries his face into her neck.

She strokes his back, shushing him softly, rocking a little in her chair as the beast continues its’ obnoxiousness. She knows that it will not get in, it has never gotten in, and even if it did it is no match for Regina and Granny.

Roland’s little hands flex against her shoulders as she soothes him, his hot tears dripping onto the exposed skin at her collar bone. She brushes the curls from his eyes, grasping him tightly to her, and he calms under her touch, stops trembling, even as the beast circles the cabin, loudly looking for another way in.

After what seems like hours, the wolf finally gives up, snarling in frustration and then the sound of it fades as it goes in search of another target.

Regina relaxes back into the chair, and Roland clings to her as she goes. She allows him to stay wrapped around her, his tiny heart is still hammering against her breast and she cannot bring herself to make him face his fear alone.

She looks over to Granny, but the older woman does her the courtesy of staring hard into the fire, and they fall back into the silence from earlier.

 

The late evening passes into night, and Regina is tired. So tired. Always so, so tired.

Because grief is exhausting.

Her head starts to nod forward on its’ own, her eyes closing, and she is helpless to stop it. Roland’s head is pressed tight to her chest, one little hand fisted in her long dark hair as he sleeps, and he’s so perfect, so sweet, she just allows it. She nods off swiftly, her arms tight around the little boy who could be, but is not, hers.

 

 

 


	3. The Sacrifice

  


Chapter Two - The Sacrifice 

 

 

She smells him as she wakes, understands that something is amiss before she opens her eyes. It is the smell of forest, of pine, and it does not belong in Granny’s cabin.

She opens her eyes slowly, ensuring she is focused before she gives away the state of her awareness, and her gaze immediately lands on him across the cabin.

He’s made his way in through a window it seems, though Regina cannot fathom how he picked the lock from the outside. She reasons he must have done this before - broken in to someone’s home, that is, and probably many times over - he has made absolutely no sound at all. If he had, Granny would have skewered him with the bow, but she still snores softly across from Regina.

His own bow, a longbow, is raised in his hand, an arrow nocked, but his aim has drifted down and to the side, his mouth slightly ajar in what she can blatantly see is surprise. She almost laughs at him, can understand why he might feel the way he does - it’s not every day that you find your child snuggled up in the arms of the Evil Queen.

His eyes move over the pair of them - takes in her hands on his boy’s back, the way Roland has his fists tangled in her hair and his face pressed against her neck. His eyes drift up to hers and he cocks his head to the side, studying her for a moment. She arches an eyebrow at him in challenge, because really, what would he even do? She smirks a little - as if his arrows are enough to stop her.

He lowers the bow, slips it over his shoulders and slides the arrow back into his quiver, then holds his hands up slowly in front of him - showing her he does not mean to threaten - as he silently moves toward her. She rises from her chair, holding the boy close to her, one hand going to the back of his head to keep it from sliding off her shoulder. She looks at the man, shifts her eyes toward the kitchen, and he changes direction and moves with her into the other room.

Once they are behind the closed door, she expects him to reach for his son, but he doesn’t. His eyes drift around the kitchen and she wonders if he’s taking stock, assessing if there is anything good for him to pilfer. She narrows her eyes.

He steps around her to the table and pours himself a shot of vodka in the glass she’d abandoned earlier. He holds it up to his lips and sips it slowly, nodding his approval to her.

“Still alive, I see,” she says softly, barely above a whisper.

He smirks. “It would be highly disappointing if I wasn’t capable of evading one werewolf pup for a few hours,” he says, quietly, humorously, and his eyes are blue. Beautiful, crystal, bright blue. Not that it matters.

“Care to introduce yourself?” she asks, knowing she needs no introduction.

He raises his glass in a small salute to her as he says, “Robin Hood, at your service.”

She can see a large black lion tattoo on his forearm as he raises his glass. She finds it oddly tasteful.

She hmmm’s a little at him in response. She knows the name from somewhere, something. And then it comes to her - he is the bandit - the one they call ‘Prince of Thieves’.

“And your business in the Enchanted Forest, Thief?” she says, throwing a knowing, accusatory glare at him. He had better not be robbing her citizens - hopes that he isn’t that stupid - she will _ruin_ him.

He grins at her and he is very handsome - his smile is beautiful, with perfect, straight teeth, the lines of his eyes crinkling in the corners, short scruff well maintained on his chin. His son has inherited his dimples.

“Only passing through, I’m afraid, on our way back to Sherwood.” he says, and though he smiles at her, she recognizes something else - pain, loss perhaps - it is easy to identify when one sees it in the mirror every day.

“I do hope so,” she says simply, the threat evident in her words, but she doesn’t let it seep into her voice, doesn’t want Roland to hear.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he says politely, but still with a little mischievous smile as he gives her a rather decent bow.

His eyes grow serious though, as he continues, “Thank you for caring for my son tonight. I cannot imagine that there is anyone more capable of protecting him.”

She feels her cheeks flush with the compliment.

 

Well now, he certainly is charismatic.

 

She drops her cheek to the top of Roland’s head to hide her blush, hopes he doesn’t notice it. “In the future it would behoove you to have a better understanding of local threats - just _passing through_ or otherwise,” she scolds, but she can’t quite stop the little smile that forms as she says it.

He steps toward her, setting his empty glass down on the table as he nears her. “Wise words, Majesty,” he says softly.

She rolls her eyes at him. Can’t figure out what he’s playing at.

“I suppose you’ll be on your way then,” she rushes out, suddenly feeling uncomfortable as he takes another step toward her. She wants to step back but won’t - she doesn’t back down from anyone, _anything_.

“I suppose so,” he says, and it’s almost a whisper. His eyes are intense on hers and he is very, very close to her now. Almost touching his son’s back as he steps into her space.

Her breathing accelerates, heart rate going up, she feels warm all over - he’s absolutely not threatening her, but she won’t - can’t - think about what other reaction she is having to him - would love to pretend it’s merely fear but knows that it is not. She’s not afraid of anything. Not anymore.

He brings his hand up, reaching for his son, she thinks, but he strays from the boy and reaches up further, tucking a few thick strands of her hair behind her ear. His fingers brush softly against her cheek as he does it, then curl around her ear and trail gently down the side of her neck. Her eyes slip closed with the sweet, unfamiliar sensation.

  


<BANG!>

  


The back door to the cabin flies open, tearing right off its’ hinges, splinters flying in all directions as the beast comes through. Roland screams.

Regina’s eyes snap open, her body reacting before she can think - the protective magic positively rushes from her palm, a bright golden light filling the room as the beast slams ineffectually against it and then is shoved back-back-back, catching the frame of the door and eliciting a loud, canine whine as it is thrown from the cabin.

Regina drops to one knee, clutching Roland tightly to her chest, brings her head down and speaks softly into his ear to calm him. He does, the sweet child, he calms quickly for her and when she lifts her eyes, Granny and the Thief are staring at her, their eyes wide, both armed with their bows. She looks to the door and notices that there are several arrows sticking out of the frame.

She feels it, feels the aura of the beast as it comes back, and Regina has just enough time to shove Roland toward his father as she summons her magic again, both palms channeling it this time, as the beast comes flying through.

This is no pup.

It’s an adult, a huge one, and then a second werewolf slams against her shield, then another, and another, and Granny and the Thief are firing arrows straight and true, but the monsters are difficult to kill and more keep coming, piling in, pushing hard against her shield, and it is not what it should be - four years of abstinence making her magic less effective than when she was casting at her best.

She braces one foot back, her head bowed down in concentration, shoving the magic hard, gaining a little momentum against the beasts but she’s wearing out fast, sweat is dripping down her face, her neck, her hands shake - she does not have the stamina to give them the time she needs to transport the four of them from this place.

She glances back to Granny - she is reloading and she catches Regina’s eye. Regina shakes her head at her - she can’t keep this up - and Granny’s gaze goes hard on her, then horrified as she realizes what Regina is about to do.

 

“REGINA NO!” she screams, but it is too late.

 

Regina shoves the shield out, knocking the wolves back and down hard, and in the one second of relief it gives them, she casts the spell - circles her hands out wide and brings them forcefully together in front of her as she pulls the magic down into her chest and then shoves it out - the bright green light erupting from her hands as it envelops the room.

As if in slow motion, the monsters burst, one at a time - combust into tiny pieces of ash as her magic moves over them, through the cabin, then out further, she pushes, pushes it out further still - she’s got to get the whole coven or this is all for nothing.

Her magic slithers through the forest, eradicating the foul beasts, stretching wide until she comes upon the pup - and no, not this one, she’s not part of the blood feud, is as innocent in this as she could be, so Regina pulls up.

The magic slingshots back at her, her head snapping back with the force of it as her world goes bright white, and she feels like she's falling but she cannot stay conscious long enough to catch herself.

 

 

 


	4. The Recovery

  


Chapter Three - The Recovery 

 

 

The world around her is muffled. She hears voices but can’t make out what they are saying, can’t identify who is speaking. Her eyes open and her vision is blurred, dark around the edges and she sees only fuzzy shapes that move in and out of her line of sight. She tries to raise her hand only to discover she cannot feel her hand, cannot feel any part of her body. Her head lolls heavily to the side.

Granny’s face, her hands come into focus, and she’s painted red all over - dark splotches smeared across her face, her clothing - and she’s talking fast, her red hands blurring in motion, but Regina can’t make out what she says. The dark edges of her vision start to grow, creeping inward, and she hears Granny’s voice clearly, right against her ear as she growls, “Don’t you _dare_ die on us, girl,” and then Regina fades out and loses consciousness again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She recognizes the comforting sway of the horse as it carries her.

Regina does not know how she came to be on a horse, can’t muster the strength to lift her head, cannot even open her eyes. She can feel her hands this time though, and she slides them forward, fingers grasping weakly for the swell of the saddle, but then there is the warmth of a hand guiding her, placing her hands where they should be, where she wants them to be, draped across the firm, familiar leather, and a whisper in her ear of, “That’s it, darling, come back to us.”

She feels a tightening around her middle, her shoulders as she starts to slump, and then she is floating away into the darkness once more.

 

 

 

 

* * *

  


 

She is cold.

Absolutely freezing.

It is her shaking body, she thinks, that has pulled her awake.

Her eyes open to darkness as sound fades in, and she hears a child’s voice, a boy’s voice - and she is so relieved, thinks _Finally, Henry_ \- she’s finally found her way to her son - and she says his name, needing to see him, needing to touch her boy - but he doesn’t come.

She says his name again, tries harder, says it louder, but she no longer hears the voice and her heart breaks in her chest - all she wanted was one glance, one look at her baby, but this she will be denied.

Her heart is too black to be allowed this indulgence.

She lets what little energy she has seep from her body. She doesn’t care anymore. Doesn’t want to wake again. Why can’t she just stay in the darkness forever? She shivers violently with the cold. With the grief.

There is warmth at her back then, sweet, comforting warmth stretching from her neck to her ankles, and it feels wonderful. She leans back against it, tries to get closer, would crawl inside the warmth if she had the strength.

She hears a man’s voice close to her ear, can feel his hot breath against her neck as he says, “Come on, love, you’ve got to at least try, don’t give up just yet.”

She feels a pull against her, and she is being turned. As she is rolled she presses her face, her chest, her legs into the heat, soaking it in, the shivers leaving her body as she is wrapped up tightly in the beautiful warmth.

As her body temperature rises, she falls asleep, and this time, it feels more like true sleep and less like the total unconsciousness she has been rousing from.

 

  


 

* * *

 

 

 

“Welcome back,” a soft voice says.

Regina stirs, tucking a little further into herself, tightening her arms around the heavy furs and burying her face in them.

“Come now, darling, it’s been far too long since I’ve seen those gorgeous eyes,” the voice continues.

Regina’s brow furrows, awareness starting to creep into her. No one speaks to her this way - she hasn’t heard anything close to such sweet words directed at her in _years_. She opens her eyes and slowly, slowly, her focus clears and the inside of a small tent comes into view.

There is a man crouched down in front of her. His hand reaches up and brushes her hair back from her brow, and she narrows her eyes at him.

She tries to sit up, but her strength isn’t there, and she only manages to raise one hand to swat weakly at the man’s wrist.

He takes her hand, twists his around until he is holding hers softly between both of his. This was not what she intended - who is this man to touch her so openly?

She blinks, the motion slow but the best she can muster, and then realization comes over her.

The Thief.

She tries to speak, but her voice is hoarse, she chokes on her own phlegm as she tries to clear her throat and it sends her into a coughing fit.

He is there then, lifting her shoulders up and pressing a small canteen of water to her lips, and what choice does she have but to drink? So she does, even if it is poison she will swallow it -  will accept anything that will quench her fiery thirst.

He takes the water away once she has had a long drink, and he lowers her back to the bed, resuming his post in front of her.

“Do you remember me?” he asks softly, “Remember what happened?”

She squints. Feels like she knows the answer but her tired brain can’t pull up anything more than 'Thief’.

“Robin,” he gently reminds her, “I am Robin Hood, and you saved my life, the life of my son as well, and Granny’s.”

Regina takes a deep breath. Closes her eyes and tries to think, tries to remember what happened.

“There was a green light - you used a bright green magic to save us all, and it,” he pauses, “ - it _decimated_ you, Regina,” he whispers. She can feel the heat of his gaze on her and she thinks he's being rather dramatic. And it irks her that he makes no apology for the use of her given name.

She opens her eyes, frowning at his inappropriate familiarity with her, but she will correct him later.  “I remember,” she rasps.

He smiles a little at her, his eyes red rimmed and intense as he reaches out and strokes her cheek. He looks completely exhausted.

“Where am I?” she asks.

“Hidden,” he replies simply. “Hidden until you recover. The pack was allied with Snow White. She meant to kill you, and Granny too, I think.”

Regina sighs. _If only she had succeeded_.

The Thief looks hard at her. “None of that now,” he says, and she wonders if she’d said that out loud - doesn’t think she did.

“How long,” she clears her throat again - it is sore. “How long have I been out?”

The Thief openly grimaces, and a little shiver of fear runs down her spine.

“How long?” she prods, temper rising.

“A fortnight and change, I’m afraid,” his voice is soothing.

Regina cringes. Two weeks is a long time for a queen to be amiss. Rumors will have started, no doubt. She needs to return as soon as she is able. She tells him so.

He nods, agrees but warns her, “You will need your strength before we attempt the journey. It is a significant distance.”

Regina closes her eyes and tries to breath evenly, tries to calm all the fears that are racing to the forefront. Snow will have taken advantage of this time, will have some new treachery for her to deal with when she returns. The Thief is right, she will need her strength, if only to make the journey.

If she is to die she will do it in her own kingdom.

 

 

 


	5. The Warmth

  


Chapter Four - The Warmth 

  


She is so, so warm. Wonderfully, beautifully warm. It fills her whole body, right down to her soul, and she smiles a little as she pulls herself further into the heat.

She lets out a long sigh, her body feels wonderful - calm and relaxed and tucked into the source of heat along her entire frame. She rubs her hands over it, bends her knee and slides it along, taking in the complete contentment that it provides her. She nuzzles her face in tighter, burrowing in - she never wants to move from this position.

The warmth spreads up the planes of her back and it is so soothing she could cry. It feels amazing, her skin flushes and she arches into it, rubbing her chest more against the heat in front of her. She continues to slide her legs, trapping the warmth between them, shifting her hips until she has it pressed intimately to her, and god, it feels incredible - she has not had anything close to this sensation in forever, the heat spreads through her quickly and lights fires within that she thought could no longer be kindled.

She moans with the pleasure. The heat continues to coast over her body, across her back, her shoulders, down her arms to her waist. She moves her hips a little, rubbing herself against the heat she maneuvered there, and sparks light in her sex. She feels herself starting to tingle with arousal, blood rushing to her most sensitive areas, and it feels so, so good. She doesn’t want to stop, couldn’t even if she did.

She splays her hands wide, spreading the heat across her palms as she runs them over whatever she can reach. She keeps her hips moving, rocking against the warmth as she brings her face in closer, smoothing her cheek, her forehead, her mouth across the toasty surface, trying to absorb it into her. Her mouth opens on its own, scraping her teeth against the smooth planes and her tongue slips out, running along it, taking in the salty flavor as her mouth works against it. It tastes wonderful.

She presses her breasts forward, rubbing the hardened tips of them lightly against the warm surface, and the breath shudders from her, the sensation erotic and wonderful as it zings through her, straight to her clit, so she continues to do it. She feels as if she is being thawed from a layer of ice and she's melting as she slowly rubs her breasts and rocks her hips firmly into the source of heat.

Her hands slide around, pulling it to her and she rolls so she is more on top of it, trapping it down with the weight of her body - she suddenly _needs_ this heat, it is hers, only hers - and she will not let it slip from her grasp.

She shifts her body across the warmth, her thighs spreading wide to capture it between them, her sex pressing down, and it is warmer than ever now as she slides against it. She feels her long hair fall from her shoulders to curtain her face as she lifts up a little, shifting her upper body over to be completely pressed against the warmth, dragging her breasts purposefully across it and running her nose, her lips and tongue over it as she goes.

 

_Mine._ She thinks. _Mine._

 

The warmth continues to radiate to her core as she sprawls across it, goes straight through her to her black heart, and it accelerates in her chest with the feeling. Her stomach and thighs press tightly against the soft surface and she tilts her hips forward and back, seeking out the flames she can feel against her. Her hands slide along, nails greedily scratching at it, wanting it hotter, wanting it to burn her just a little, needing the scalding pleasure, slick juices starting to seep from her sex as she rubs herself wantonly against the warmth.

There is a hot, firm press against her belly and she wants that, needs it, can feel how the heat sizzles against her and she shimmies her body up, up, and then slides herself down quickly, encasing it within her hot, swollen sex.

 

_Yes - god yes - oh god yes._

 

She hears a deep, rumbled, “Fuck, Regina,” and her eyes snap open. She sits back quickly, palms pressing her up, awareness slamming into her as she stares down through the darkness in shock at the man below her.

 

The man _inside_ of her.

 

She’s panicking - eyes wide and breath tight in her chest - she’s panicking hard but she can’t move - in spite of everything she isn’t willing to give up the heat just yet. He is wonderfully hard, long, and so hot inside of her and she’s greedy, full of pent up need, and she wants his heat in her forever, though she knows it’s wrong and this man is a stranger to her.

He quietly stares up at her through half hooded eyes, watching her intently, and then he slowly, slowly, slides his warm hands up her thighs to her hips, and he lifts her up a little. He pulls her down sharply, thrusting up as he does it, and her mouth drops open, a soft gasp expelling from her lungs with the pleasure of it. He does it again, and oh god, it feels incredible, he is deep and thick and warm, his eyes are locked on hers, and she has not had this in forever, in _years_ , and she just wants - he does it again and she gasps - she just needs - and again - and she loses all train of thought.

She starts shifting on her own, raising up on her knees and sinking down onto him, his thick cock disappearing inside of her as she takes him all the way in. She’s wet, jesus, so wet, can feel herself coating him and hears the wet sounds of their movements, and she knows she’s tight, hasn’t had this kind of intrusion in her in way too long, and _god_ he feels incredible. His hands rest softly on the tops of her thighs, letting her move, letting her be in control of this and she likes that, likes that he’s letting her use him like this. Admires him for his strength of will to let her take what she wants.

His body is beautiful, she thinks, as she increases in speed - his chest is broad and thick and muscled, with just a little hair across his chest and down from his navel to his cock. His abs are hard, defined but with a little softness to him - and she wonders if when he fights he depends on his quickness rather than sheer strength. She likes how he looks, wants to run her lips across him, suck his smooth, hot skin into her mouth. His arms and shoulders are magnificently defined, thick muscles bunching as he flexes his large hands on her thighs. Her insides clench on him, wanting him even though she’s having him, and he moans with the action, swallowing thickly before huffing out a deep breath.

She leans forward, unable to stop her hands from running over him, her fingernails trailing softly over his pecs to his ribs, and she tilts further to put her mouth on him, licking his hot, slick skin as she rocks her hips against him.

She feels alive on him. Feels strength seeping into her body as she rides him, her hips moving faster still, and his hands have slid from her thighs to her ass, pulling her down hard against him as he thrusts up into her.

She leans forward more, running her lips up his chest, sucking his skin and biting a little with her arousal building, white hot desire burning where he hits her deep, and then she’s licking and kissing him roughly, works on his neck, his throat, his jawline as her hips slow just a little with the infatuation of her mouth.

She pulls back, just barely, looking him hard in the eyes as she slides along his cock, once, twice, and then she drops her mouth to his and kisses him roughly.

His mouth opens immediately, and she slips her tongue in, tastes him, feels the slide of his hot tongue against hers and she takes the soft flesh of his bottom lip between her teeth, scraping against it as she pulls back. And it is good, so, so good. He’s delicious and good at this and she wants more from him, more yet. Wants him to offer himself up to her like a sacrifice for all the sins and sorrows of her past. Her hand comes up to cup his chin roughly, and she kisses him hard, and again - harder - and he takes it like he’s completely in agreement with her.

She could kiss this man forever.  

She keeps her grip tight on his jaw as she leans back a little, wanting to look at his face, not understanding _why_ he is letting her do this, and she doesn’t really care all that much, but still, she’s curious.

His brow is furrowed in concentration, his quick breathing a match to hers as she slides up and down his length, faster, faster, and his fingers flex on her waist as she moves. She moves one hand to brace on his collarbone, sliding her knees forward a little to change the angle, snapping her hips down to his - quick-quick-quick - and god, it’s been so long since she has ridden a man, can’t remember why she has denied herself this, she knows what she looks like, could have any man she wants - but _god_ , she only wants this man and she’s having him now, having him how she wants and she’s burning up with his heat, with the way his cock strokes that sensitive spot inside of her over, and over, and over.

One of his hands slides around and dips between her legs, his thumb finding her clit and he rubs vigorously - Regina moans loudly, her back arching with the added pleasure, nails digging into his skin and her hips stutter against his. Her internal muscles are tightening, tightening and she can feel slick lubrication running down her thighs, soaking them where they are connected, and her clit is swollen and throbbing under his thumb as he presses the pad against her and changes to swirls. She starts panting, little high pitched _ah-ah-ah_ ’s escaping into the thick, warm air.

“That’s it, darling,” he says, his voice rough and breathy beneath her as he increases the speed of his hips, thrusting up - hard-hard-hard - and it shakes her whole body, her breasts bouncing - he is so strong and so deep and she’s almost there, can feel the rush of ecstasy start to break across her chest, her nipples deliciously tightening, her abs and thighs starting to tremble with the pleasure. “Take it deep- _fuck yeah_ \- come on my cock Regina,” he orders, and her eyes flash to his, her hips immediately slamming down against his, anger flaring before she can rein it in, her nails digging into his skin for his inappropriate use of her name before she can stop it, but he just groans out in pleasure and gives her this wicked grin, and suddenly she is on her back as he flips them and drives into her, his strong arms wrapped up under her back and grasping tight to the tops of her shoulders as he pulls her down roughly onto his cock, his thick thighs pushing him deep, deep into her, her clit assaulted with every slap of his skin against hers. “My apologies, _Your Majesty_ ,” he rasps against her ear as he lightly nips the shell of it. She reaches up, grasps him by the back of the neck and pulls his mouth to hers, shoving her tongue inside and scraping her nails roughly against his skin as he drives **hard - hard - deep** \- and then she just, _positively shatters_.

Her hips drive up against his, frantic, twisting and writhing against him as he continues to thrust into her, his long cock taking the harsh squeeze and clench of her internal muscles in stride as she flutters and then spasms around him - one of her hands reaches to his ass and pulls him deep, her legs dropping wide open for him like a common whore as she begs him for _more, more, don’t stop, don’t stop!_ He doesn’t - he fucks her hard, continues as she squirms under him, her breathing unreasonably fast, her back arched and thighs quaking as she comes, stars leaping before her eyes and her hearing going to static as she feels the fluid need rush out of her, her clit throbbing and throbbing as the pleasure pushes through her, until finally, _finally_ she falls back sharply against the bedding as the exhilarating rush finally crests and she starts to slowly, slowly, descend.

He’s still hard inside of her, thrusting so, so slowly, braced up on his elbows so as not to crush her, and when she opens her eyes she catches him watching himself disappear inside of her, over and over.

The way he’s watching himself penetrate her - as if he's awestruck - _does_ something to her, and she inadvertently clenches on him in a little aftershock, noting the way his jaw tightens and the air rushes from his swollen lips. “Not inside me,” she whispers roughly, and his eyes snap to hers, as if he is shocked she’s going to let him come _at all_ and she smirks a little with the thought - she may be Evil but she’s not _that_ cruel, and then he gives her half a dozen quick thrusts, drops a hot kiss to the top of her breast as he pulls out, grabbing for his shirt as he comes into it, pumping himself quickly, and she swears he says her name as he groans and strokes himself to completion.

He flops down beside her, pulling the heavy furs back up around them, their breaths ragged in the dark. He’s on his side, facing her, and he reaches for her - gently slides his fingers across her smooth stomach and she slaps at his hand, a reflex - but he just chuckles softly as he settles his palm flat against her and stills.

She doesn’t move his hand.

He’s looking at her, she can feel his gaze on her profile as she pulls herself out of her sex-induced stupor, her breaths finally returning to normal as the endorphins spread and the adrenaline abates.

She clears her throat, “Why am I naked, Thief?”

He laughs softly. “Body heat,” he says, and he does not sound apologetic.

“Excuse me?” she snaps, her head dropping to the side to look at him.

He’s smiling like a fool. She rolls her eyes.

“You’ve been freezing at night and we can’t risk a fire,” he explains. “The heat transfers best without clothing between. It truly was innocent,” he smirks, clears his throat, “that is, until I woke up to you sliding onto my cock.”

She hisses between her teeth, purses her lips, annoyed with his comment. She didn’t know - didn’t realize what she was doing when she did it. “You’re a pretty poor protector to have slept through all the activity that lead up to that,” she bites off.

He laughs again, his calloused fingers flex against her stomach, “Thought it was a dream, never imagined I’d be so lucky.”

 

Regina fights a smile. Charismatic indeed.

 

“Tomorrow?” he asks her softly, and she nods. Tomorrow they will start the journey back. She is strong enough now. Feels _good_ \- better than she has in a very long time.

She turns her face back to the ceiling, and he scoots closer to her - charismatic _and_ brave, she decides.

His arm wraps around her waist, his lips dropping a kiss to her shoulder as he presses up to her side, sliding one of his legs between hers, bringing their bodies into contact from shoulder to calf.

“What do you think you're doing?” she snaps - he is much, much too familiar with her.

“Body heat,” he mumbles against her skin, and she can’t help it, he’s such an idiot.

 

She laughs.

 

It isn’t loud, or long, but it is the most she has laughed in four years, and it makes her heart feel warm, feel good. He presses another kiss to her shoulder, and she closes her eyes, drifts to sleep quickly with his thick, hot body wrapped around hers.

 

 

 


	6. The Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning - some descriptions of gore and unhealthy thoughts

 

 

Chapter Five - The Questions 

 

 

Five days, Robin tells her.

It will take them five days to make the ride back to her castle. She’s a little shocked by it - doesn’t remember the trip from Granny’s except for a few flickering memories of simply being on horseback, but otherwise it is all blank nothingness.

As he packs up, she notices that he has the big, broad shouldered palomino - _her_ palomino - as their only mount, and a thick wave of nausea floods her when she sees it.

Where is Rocinante?

She snaps the question at him, and he jerks a little from her curt tone, twisting around to look at her as he shoves something into the pack.

“Still at Granny’s - I was not certain the old boy could carry the both of us quite so far.” She narrows her eyes at him, does not like him insulting Rocinante, even if what he says is true.

He tilts his head at her and adds, “And if Granny would have need to flee, he is the better of the two for her stature, don’t you think?” She purses her lips at the blatant amusement in his bright blue eyes.

“I suppose so,” she grumbles, and goes back to working on the second braid she’s twisting her long hair into.

It doesn’t take long to pack, and it is a nice day for the ride - the sun is shining and quickly warming the morning air around them, and it smells like fresh foliage and dew.

 

She hates it.

 

It feels merry and wholesome and she imagines Snow flouncing through a meadow with a bouquet of snowbells in her hand, and she could scream with the immediate rage that invades her mind.

“Ready, Your Majesty?” Robin calls to her as he cinches the last pack to the big horse.

She snaps out of it, finishes the tie around the end of her braid and strides to him. How he knew _not_ to call her ‘Regina’ in this moment is nothing short of amazing. It would have cost him dearly.

He boosts her into the saddle, and it annoys her that she needs the help, but she does - her arms and legs are still a little shaky from the werewolf event. He slides up easily behind her, and they turn toward home.

 

 

The first two days pass quickly, uneventful, and she is grateful for it. It feels good to be on the horse, good to have the Thief pressed tightly to her back, and she wants the _good_ to drag out. Does not want to think of what madness Snow White will force from her when they return.

She’s wearing the riding jacket and pants outfit that she’d worn to Granny’s those weeks ago, and it appears clean, but the fabric has a weird stiffness to it and she can’t help but wonder why. So on the third day she breaks and asks the Thief.

He tenses behind her, and she doesn’t like that, doesn’t like the implication.

“What?” she asks, and when he hesitates, she repeats, irritated, “ _What?!_ ”

“It’s from the blood,” he says quickly, near her ear.

“What blood?” she asks, and then a shock of dread runs through her.

 

Roland.

 

What has happened Roland?

 

She asks him, interrupts whatever he was about to say with her absolute _need_ to know what happened to the boy.

“He’s fine, he’s safe,” Robin shushes her, “One of my men came and collected him for me - I couldn’t risk him being with us if we were caught.”

She nods, relief flooding her chest. And then annoyance at her reaction. Why should she care what happens to the boy?

She shakes her head, refusing to evaluate it further - prompts Robin, “What blood?”

“After the magic uh, what’s the proper term?” he asks her, and she supplies, _rebound_ , and he continues, “After it rebounded, you started bleeding.”

Her brow furrows. “What, like I hit my head on something?”

He hesitates again and it makes her extremely annoyed.

“ _Tell me,_ Thief!” she growls, her teeth clenched. She is no gentle flower, she can handle whatever it is he does not want to say.

“No, not like that,” he says quietly, his face very near hers. She feels him exhale softly against her neck and her annoyance abates a little. “You started bleeding from everywhere - your eyes, your nose, your mouth, your fingertips - _everywhere_ ,” he explains, and she straightens in the saddle, her back going stiff against him.

“We thought you were going to die,” he whispers, and his mouth touches the back of her head in that inappropriate familiarity he has with her person as he presses a quick kiss to her. “What _was_ that?” he asks, and there is genuine concern in his voice.

Regina cannot even remember the last time someone expressed honest worry for her.

Daniel, she thinks. Knows it was most likely Daniel - _run away with me tonight, Regina, she’s going to tell - please, my love, I beg of you!_

Her eyes feel hot at the memory, she clenches her fingers tightly to the swell of the saddle, fingernails pressed hard into the firm material.

She clears her throat, gathers herself.

“Magic exhaustion,” she replies, finally. Her throat feels raw.

Behind her, he hums a little in acknowledgement, but she is certain he doesn’t know what that means, so she continues, “Magic comes with a cost - physical, mental, or emotional energy, sometimes worse, but there is always a price to pay. In this case, the spell used up all of the magic I was able to conjure, everything I had in me. The physical toll of such a thing is… immense,” she trails off. She doesn’t want to talk about this anymore.

There are a few beats of silence and she thinks the conversation is over - is relieved it is over. But then he asks “Did you know it would do that?” and his voice is soft, careful, spoken into the sensitive skin of her neck.

 

Of course she knew.

 

Had hoped. Wanted.

 

When she doesn't answer he makes some sort of disapproving noise behind her and it makes her angry, her body leans forward and as far away from his as she can. She doesn’t want his pity. Or his judgement. Doesn’t want to even be touching him right now.

“Regina -” he starts, and she is immediately furious - cuts him off.

“Show some respect, Thief,” she barks, “It’s _Your Majesty_.”

He grunts and she feels his body go tight behind her, hears the clack of his teeth as he snaps his mouth shut.

Good.

It’s about time he remembered with whom he was keeping company.

He kicks the horse then, puts them into a trot, and she tries not to think about it anymore, tries to pass the time by counting the heavy footsteps of the palomino, wishing she were home.

 

 

 


	7. The Chase

  


Chapter Six - The Chase 

  


On the fourth day there is trouble.

They haven’t spoken much since their discussion about the _event,_ and they are equally withdrawn and stiff against each other as they ride. It’s annoying. She wishes the journey was over.

They round a sharp corner in the road, and Robin pulls up tight on the reins, the palomino sliding to a quick halt. Up ahead and looking straight at them is a large company of heavily armored men. They are toting the green and white flag of Prince John.

“Fuck,” she hears him mutter, and his body curls around her a little as he shortens up on the reins.  

“Friends of yours?” she asks, smirks, because she knows they are not.

“Not exactly,” he grumbles, and then an arrow < _thwacks > _ sharply into a tree next to them, and they take off through the woods at a canter.

To his credit, the big horse is relatively swift through the woods, not great, but as well as could be expected of the animal. Robin weaves them in and out of the trees, the sound of hooves loud behind them, the rush of arrows striking nearby, branches slapping them as they turn sharply left.

They are just barely still in Sherwood Forest, would have crossed the border by late morning had they not been interrupted, but she is a little thankful for it - the Thief actually seems to know where he’s going.

“Do you have a plan?” she asks, a little breathless from bouncing in the saddle without stirrups to brace against.

“I always have a plan,” he quips, and she wants to slap him.

“Are you waiting until they’ve caught us to share it, or do you just enjoy being a jackass?” she snaps.

“Well, it depends on you, Your Majesty - care to use a little of your magic to help us out here?” he asks.

“No,” she replies, obstinate.

Just because she used it at Granny’s does not mean she’s about to start using it again. What happened that night was a slip - her guard was down and she’d used it on instinct. She does not intend to let it happen again.

He laughs, actually laughs against her back as he swings the horse to the right, an arrow narrowly missing them as they lean hard with the momentum, and then he tells her of a hiding place he knows - a crack in a large rock face that they can slip into, but they’re going to have to ditch the horse first.

“Ditch the horse?!” she exclaims.

Oh no, no way - she does not like where this is going. Robin turns the horse sharply again, and she sees a huge fallen log ahead - Robin directs the horse straight at it, spurring it hard.

No. No-no-no. This is not happening.

“Robin wait!” she shrieks, trying to pull the reins from him - and oh god - she does not want to do this.

“Don’t worry, darling, I’ve got you,” he says into her ear - the horse leaps, and as they sail over the log Robin jerks her back, uses the withers of the horse as leverage as he throws them from the saddle, holding her tight to him as they slam to the ground and he rolls them against the log. They lay stiffly, breathless, his body covering hers, as their horse, and Prince John’s men, continue on.

She hurts all over and she’s full of twigs and dirt and leaves but there’s no time - he’s pulling her up and they are running hard - it won’t take their pursuers long to notice they are no longer on the horse, and she’s never been so thankful she decided to wear pants to Granny’s three weeks ago.

The rock wall comes into view, covered with long, hanging, green moss - they sprint toward an area that has a particularly shaggy growth dangling over it, then he’s shoving her ahead of him and she throws her arms up, bracing for impact that does not come. She opens her eyes, not realizing she’d closed them as he pushes against her, forcing her all the way to the back of the crack, until her hands come up against the cool interior of the rock wall. The space is tight - very tight for two people, and he pushes his front up flush against her back as he puts his own back to the entrance so that she is completely hidden, completely shielded from harm. They will literally have to go through him to get to her.

 

She almost laughs. As if she needs him to protect her.

But she adds chivalrous to the ‘Robin’ list anyway.

 

It is completely pitch black in their little hiding spot, but she can hear the clanging sound of the guardsmen, the whinny of horses as the company of Prince John’s men searches for them.

And it’s a little ridiculous - the Evil Queen hiding in the crack of a rock wall with a thieving hoodlum - when she could very easily use her magic to knock all of Prince John’s men unconscious with one small sweep of her hand.

But she won’t.

She has never asked for Robin’s help. Never asked him to go out of his way, to be collateral damage in this mess. And if she’s being completely honest, she doesn’t _want_ his help. Doesn’t want anyone’s help.

So if he’s stupid enough to keep trying to protect her, she will not take responsibility for it if he gets himself caught in the crossfire.

Still, when the voices grow louder - men shouting angrily in the same accent as Robin - her adrenaline starts to rush. She can feel the magic in her fingertips, tingling pleasantly, trying to work its way out, but she concentrates and tamps it down - she will not allow it. Her arms are up in front of her, bent at the elbow with her forearms flush against the damp wall, and she drops her head against them, hands fisting as she closes her eyes and breathes deeply.

His hot breaths hit her neck as he presses into her, and it sends a shiver down her spine, her thoughts grinding to a halt as her nipples tighten in anticipation. She suddenly wants him, needs him closer, _closer_ , wants him completely on her, so she slowly arches her back and bumps her ass against his groin. She doesn’t know why she’s doing it, she just _is_ and it feels _good_ and she doesn’t want to think about the _why_. Doesn’t want to think about anything.

His body tenses behind her, but he doesn’t move into her like she wants him to, so she does it again, gives him more contact and rubs against him a little before pulling back. He gets the message and steps into her, bringing his groin flush against the swell of her backside, his hands landing on her hips. Her breathing has calmed from their sprint here, but her heart is hammering just as hard, maybe even faster now.

His fingers flex and she feels him slide himself against her rear, testing to see if he’s got it right, if he understands what she wants, and yes - _yes_ \- this is what she wants, so she pushes back against him, arches her back and lets a little gasp slip from her lips. He drops his mouth to the nape of her neck, exposed thanks to her tight braids, and he drops a hot kiss there, sliding his lips across the soft skin as he rocks against her again.

She pushes back with enthusiasm, wants him to touch her more, to touch her everywhere. When his hands are on her she doesn’t have to feel anything but the pleasure he gives her. She feels…

 

_Free_.

 

She brings her hands down in front of her, and the space is really, really limiting but she manages to get her arms down enough to be able to work the buttons on her red leather halter. Her jacket is already open from the fall, and she’s sure she’s missing some buttons there - it’s a shame but she doesn’t care - it actually works to her advantage right now. She runs down the row of buttons on her shirt while he starts to rub himself earnestly against her backside - she can feel him growing hard against her, and she almost moans with her excitement.

His hands slide under the long tails of her jacket, over her hips and down to squeeze the globes of her ass, and his fingers run the waistline of her pants around to the front, his thick arms just barely fitting around her in the tight space. When his hands meet in the middle they bump hers, and she’s just flicked open the last button on her shirt, so her hands grasp his quickly, before either of them can change their minds, and she slides his hands up the exposed skin of her stomach, up, up, until she places both his hands on her naked breasts. Then she drops her arms back down to keep them out of the way in the tight space.

His breath huffs out against her neck and it tickles, sends a shiver down her as gooseflesh breaks across her chest. He lifts her breasts, hefts the weight in his hands and slowly kneads the supple, sensitive flesh and she rocks her ass back against him again as if to say _Let’s go, Thief_.

The sound of the men outside is nerve-racking, they are doing a thorough job of searching high and low for them, but now Robin is playing with her nipples, pinching and rolling them and tugging just a little bit, and she cannot find the will to care.

 

Let them come, she thinks - as long as _she_ comes first.

 

She rocks her pelvis rhythmically against his groin as his fingers strum her nipples and it feels amazing - she wants him to keep going, keep touching her breasts - thinks she could probably come from it. She never has, but maybe could this one time, if he keeps doing it _just like that_ , keeps pinching and tugging her tight buds and then circling around them, teasing her until he comes back in and slips the pads of his fingers against the very, very tips with this feather light touch before switching to vigorous flicks against them - _oh god yes_ \- she just might. Regina hasn’t had this in so long - the interested hands of a lover taking their time, exploring, playing with her, stroking and kneading and she could sob, could cry out with the quenching of the emotional drought she feels flood through her.

He leaves her nipples and slides his hands back to her full mounds, cupping and squeezing them together, then purposefully bouncing them several times, and he’s _such_ a man for that move that she lets a grin form - he can’t see it anyway so what’s the harm - and she feels his ragged breathing move to her ear.

“ _Christ_ , Regina,” he says so, so softly, “Your tits were _made_ for my hands - got me so hard.”

Her breath catches and she wants to moan, loves it when a man talks dirty to her. She hasn’t had it much, Daniel was not very good at it, but the one or two times he got it right, it made her so, so hot.

He slides his hands down her stomach to her waist and twists the top button of her red leather pants open, then stops. He’s asking for permission, it seems.

And she’s definitely going to allow it.

She shoves her ass back roughly against him, rising on her tiptoes and back down to drag the friction across his hard bulge, and he thrusts against her as he quickly opens the rest of the buttons.

His right hand slides down, flat against her stomach, lower, lower, cupping her mound, lower still, and then his fingers slide through her folds. She’s well aware he’s got her completely soaked, but _he_ doesn’t know it, and she almost snickers when she feels his knees give a little and he sinks his teeth lightly into the exposed skin of her neck.

“Fucking dripping for me,” he growls softly to her, and she shivers.

His fingers glide over her, and she’s almost too wet - he slips through the soft folds and goes for her clit, but it’s difficult to get the friction she needs with so much lubrication.

Now _there’s_ a problem she’s never had before.

If he weren’t already rotting in the ground, Leopold would die of shock with the knowledge that she can be _this wet_ just from having her breasts played with - and it’s the first time ever that she has thought of that bastard and wished he was alive, if only so she could torture him with this information.

Two of Robin’s fingers work her expertly, running over and through her swollen lips, then down to slide inside of her. He’s skilled in spite of her slippery need, not to mention that it’s a weird angle and with her pants up he can’t really thrust his fingers very well - but she isn’t too keen on getting bare-assed in a rock wall with twenty men just outside hunting for them, so she’ll take what he can give her like this.

There is only enough room for one of his hands to slide down her tight pants, but he makes good use of the other one - he smooths it up her stomach, between her breasts, all the way up to her collarbone and then strokes back down to her navel. The long caress feels incredible as he repeats it, arousing and soothing at the same time, and she wants more than ever for him to make her come.

His fingers thrust shallowly into her, and it feels so, so good as he presses the heel of his palm to her clit and rubs, pleasure rushing through her, tightening her inner muscles. She drops her head back to his shoulder, and _oh yes_ , this is what she wants - **needs** \- the sensations he’s creating are intense, and it feels so wonderful that she can’t think. Can’t even _try_ to think, and it is such glorious relief. She feels his lips at her neck and her breath puffs out as he lightly nips the skin there and then drags his tongue all the way up to her earlobe, which he promptly sucks between his lips.

He lets it slide through his teeth then pulls back to lick up the edge of her ear as his fingers thrust and rub enthusiastically against her hot sex. His left hand plays with her breasts, squeezing the mounds and teasing her nipples back to stiff peaks, and then his hand moves across her chest and up to grasp her chin, turning her face to his. He busses her lips quickly, but the angle is too much to really kiss, so he tilts her head to the side as he puts his lips to her ear.

“Wanna be inside you,” he whispers, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “Wanna fuck you hard, so deep - I know you like it - you’re soaking wet and only my cock knows how to work you just right.”

She hears herself whisper _God Yesss_.

“Wish I could give it to you,” he pants, “but I can’t - _fuck_ \- we can’t make a sound, and you’ll start screaming my name if I shove my cock in you, if I start pounding your hot little cunt from behind right now.” His voice is a very, very quiet whisper but it is rough and rasping in her ear, and now he’s rubbing himself against her ass in time with the thrusts of his fingers.

And oh god, it all feels so good. She’s clenching on his fingers with every thrust, can feel her pulse in her throbbing clit, and she wishes she wasn’t quite so stupid, wishes she’d started this somewhere that she _could_ scream his name - because she would give just about anything right now to have him slide deep into her and give her what she really needs.

The thought hits her suddenly - she can have that. She can have it right now. _If_ she uses her magic.

And she’s really, really torn on what she should do. His fingers and mouth and tongue are pure bliss against her, and she’s going to come from this, can tell that she’s going to, but she’ll come _harder_ if his cock is inside of her, and oh god she wants that - wants it so, so much.

Suddenly there is the sound of footsteps just outside of where they are hidden and they both freeze. A man’s voice carries as he speaks with a second, and they can hear the conversation clearly as the two guardsmen pause not five feet from where they are hiding to complain about their never ending search for Robin Hood.

Regina makes to bring up her hands, thinks to button her shirt, but Robin feels the move and he shakes her chin a little, _No_ , and then he slides his hand down to pinch and flick over her nipple as the fingers of his other hand slide carefully out of her and immediately start rubbing frantically up and down against her clit.

Her hips jerk forward with the sudden shot of pleasure he creates, and _oh god_ , she has to be quiet, cannot make a single noise or they will most definitely get caught, killed maybe - cannot believe he’s doing this to her, he’s going to make her come on purpose with those men so close to them, and she is _so_ offended and _so_ turned on and she is _so_ going to make him pay for this.

Just as soon as she’s done coming.

He rubs her clit relentlessly, and he keeps switching up the pressure - fast and firm as he works her up, her back arching as she starts to approach her climax, and then he switches - gives her slow, feather light strokes around it and against her outer lips. Then he does it again. And again. Her legs are trembling so hard she’s shocked she’s still standing, and she can’t feel anything but the intense, surging pleasure racing through her sex and out to every erogenous zone on her body.

She’s sweating with the restraint of it all - she’s trying hard to keep her breathing quiet and her mouth shut but now he’s plucking at her nipple and then he pinches it, uses it to jiggle her entire breast as he tugs it up and down, and the sensation is stupidly sexy, makes her think of the way her breasts bounced when she rode him, and _oh god_ it sends a gush of fluid from her with the memory. He switches to her other breast and swipes the pad of his thumb quickly over her sensitive tip just as he goes back to rubbing the calloused pads of his fingers firmly against her clit at a pace to match. He puts his lips tight against her ear, squeezes her breast and whispers - “Wish I could turn you around,” - he thrusts against her ass, tugs her nipple, rubs vigorously against her clit -  “I’m so close - wish I could cover these sweet tits with my come,” - and oh god, oh no, she’s going to - she’s going - oh _fuck_ \- she’s **_coming_ ** \- her hips jerking wildly as he works her, pinches her nipple hard and silently slides his hand up over her mouth when she sucks in a loud, gasping breath as she spirals waaaaay up and then flies off the edge in pure, perfect ecstasy.

  
She’s breathing hard through her nose, her eyes water and she is light headed from the oxygen she's being denied - but it’s fair, because if she gets a lungful she’s _going_ to moan, or gasp, or at the very least sob with how high and tight and good she feels as her orgasm races through her swollen, gushing, sex, her tight, peaked nipples, flaring across her chest as her whole body lights up and quivers and clenches with the hot pleasure, and she continues to twitch, to squirm as he slows his fingers on her clit, changes to long rubbing strokes, soft, so soft against her sensitive bud, and then finally stops entirely and just holds his hand against her mound, two fingers slipping back inside her to catch the last of her inner spasms, her clit throbbing against his talented, soaked palm and her chest positively heaving.

His hand lets up a little on her mouth - holds it close for a second to make sure she isn’t going to make a noise - and then he lets it slide down her chest, giving her breast a good squeeze on his way down to meet his other hand.

He slides his hand out of her pants and buttons them for her, then works on her shirt too while she just leans, shaking, against him and tries to calm her rapid breaths that are way too close to hyperventilating. She’s vaguely aware of the sound of the two men walking off, and she holds off as long as she can, hopes that they are gone as a soft, slightly hysterical noise escapes her. And it’s almost like he knows she’s about to come apart, because he wraps one arm around her waist, the other tight across her chest, giving her his strength and support as her post-orgasm hysteria escalates.

She’s had this happen once or twice before, a lifetime ago, where she came so incredibly hard that the emotion or the relief or the adrenaline or whatever just completely overcame her and she either laughed or cried or did a little of both before she could rein it all back in. She fights to get herself together, trying and failing to stop the ridiculous laughter from bubbling up from her chest, but then a few tears slide down, her whole body starts trembling and she's close to switching from laughing to crying and she doesn't, _does_ _not_ want that. She takes a deep breath, reminds herself that she's safe here in the dark, no one can see her - no one can see this happen - no one knows - and though he is here he’s not saying anything and the warmth and pressure of his arms around her makes her feel calm, makes her feel strong.

She sucks in a couple of deep breaths, concentrating on his touch and finally starting to steady - her heart rate is coming down, and she’s feeling better, feeling relieved and really, _really good_.

She takes a few additional deep breaths and his arms relax around her. Then he drops a kiss to the crux of her neck before he steps back and starts inching his way toward the entrance.

When they exit the hiding spot she has put all of her pieces back together, and they take off in search of the path, hoping to come across the horse they abandoned.

As they walk, she looks at her hands, wishes she was willing to use the magic she could so easily summon. Walking is stupid and she could transport them back to her castle in two seconds, but it’s not a price she’s willing to pay anymore. She thinks about the Thief’s hands, the things he uses them for in his occupation, and then suddenly she’s snickering - thank god picking locks isn’t the only thing those hands are good for.

He gives her a curious look but says nothing, and they continue on into the mid-afternoon sun.

 

 

 


	8. The History

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning - some tragic, sensitive stuff discussed here - no graphic descriptions.

 

 

Chapter Seven - The History 

 

 

They’ve been walking for an hour in relatively comfortable silence when he asks, “Who is Henry?” and she stumbles, not expecting the question, not prepared to brace against the pain that always comes with the mention of her boy.

_Everything_ , she thinks. Her whole world. Her perfect, happy ending despite all the madness.

“No one,” she says stiffly.

He frowns at her and she’s suddenly very uncomfortable. She wishes they were at Granny’s. Wishes they had found that damn horse. Rocinante would never have abandoned her like this.

“You called his name when you were at death’s door,” the Thief pushes, and she hates him - _hates him_ \- for pursuing this.

She doesn’t respond, just grits her teeth and walks a little faster.

He reaches out quickly, grabs her wrist - she wrenches away, temper flashing - _how dare he_ \- but she stops anyway, and he’s giving her a weird look and she can’t understand what he wants from her. Why can’t he just drop it?

“Look, Regina, if you’ve a lover I should know about, I’d prefer you tell me before we get back,” he says, and his eyes are hot on her - a little bit... desperate?

 

Oh.

 

_Oh!_

 

She barks out a laugh - can’t help it - what a ridiculous thing for him to think - that the Evil Queen spends her days murdering villagers and her nights getting sticky between the sheets - the whole notion is absolutely preposterous.

_Who has the energy to do both?_

He rightfully misunderstands her and his eyes are hard, jaw set, as he stalks off ahead of her. She feels bad about it, truly, but she can’t help laughing a little more as she tries to catch up with him. He’s such an idiot.

And a jealous one at that.

She smirks. Oh, this could be so much fun, she hasn’t toyed with a man like this in a long time. And she’s _certain_ he wants her to toy with him. Just look at that pout.

She almost has to run to catch up with him but eventually she does, and she walks beside him for a few paces, trying to figure out what to say. She doesn’t talk about what happened, doesn’t talk about Henry. Or Daniel.

 

Ever.

_To anyone_.

 

But she has seen the same brand of pain in his eyes, and there’s a strange, tingly feeling in her chest, and now she kind of wants to tell him.

“My son,” she says quietly, and the words are thick as they leave her.

Robin stops, his confusion plain.

She stops too, turns to him and takes a deep breath. She can do this. She. Can. Do. This. Her eyes feel hot, itchy, and there is a sudden pounding in her skull but she is strong and she-can-do-this.

“A few years after I was made to marry the King, I fell in love with a man, a stable boy,” she says softly, quickly. “Daniel.” His name hurts on her lips, burns against her tongue. She tries to swallow and can’t.

“I planned, tried, to run away with him. Snow saw us together, overheard us discussing names,” her hand falls to her smooth, flat stomach. “And she promptly told her father,” she pauses - her heart is racing - she has never said these words out loud.

She absently runs her fingers across the scar on her lip, slides her tongue across the front of her top teeth, like she can still taste the blood, “When Leopold was through I had lost… everything.”

Robin is staring at her - his eyes so, _so_ intense.

She maintains eye contact with him, her back straight  as she arches an eyebrow almost in challenge - she is not ashamed of what happened, the humiliation has long since abated.

She is angry. Furious. Livid.

Her eyes are narrowed with the burning rage she feels, and suddenly, she sees it reflected back in Robin’s. Her palm feels hot and she has to shake it to stop the flames from coming.

She watches as he clenches his jaw, nods, the muscles in his neck are strained, the set of his shoulders is stiff, his hands curled into fists.

A few beats of silence pass, and then he surprises her. “My wife died in childbirth,” he says quietly, “bled out in my arms,” he rasps, teeth clenched.

She nods.

It seems they have both suffered great loss.

There is a rustling noise ahead of them - they both side-step quickly, hiding themselves behind the large tree trunks, and then the palomino bursts from the brush and jogs straight to Regina.

 

Shit.

 

She rubs her brow. She must have accidentally called the big horse with her magic. No slips in four years, and suddenly she can’t seem to _stop_ slipping. It’s ridiculous.

She pats the horse and swings up into the saddle, Robin following just after, and they take off at a trot, trying to make up some of the time they lost this morning when they we're getting chased all over hell.

  


 

* * *

 

 

  
They cross the border into Misthaven at dusk, and she’s glad for it. She’s ready to be home, to sleep in her own bed - she’s had enough of tents to last a lifetime.

The horse walks quickly through the cool evening air, and he’s a good mount, Regina decides, not what she would have chosen but he’s done them well. Robin had handed her the reins about an hour ago, murmuring some excuse about it being _her_ forest, and he would not presume to give directions to a queen in her own kingdom - but she’s pretty sure it’s just an excuse for him to get his hands on her - to rub and smooth his thick fingers across her hips, her thighs, her stomach - as they make their way through the dark.

She finds that she doesn’t mind.

They make the decision to ride through the night, it seems they have both had enough of the journey, and they reach Granny’s cabin in the early morning hours before the sun has come up.

Granny greets them at the door, must’ve heard them, or smelled them, coming - _you can take the granny out of the wolf…_ she thinks, amused.

The older woman looks at her absolutely no differently from the last time Regina met her, and it is a relief. The last thing she wants is some sort of foolish, tearful reunion where they hug it out and have some ridiculous heart-to-heart. No, thank you.

She slides down and off the palomino quickly, asking Granny, “Rocinante?” and Granny nods toward the barn. Regina strides off quickly, she will waste no time in returning to her castle. Not when she’s this close. She can’t stand to let another minute go by without a report from her spies.

Her horse is already saddled and ready for her - she goes to him quickly, running her palm over his soft nose in greeting as she glides by and straight up into the saddle. She is happy to find that her short sword is still in it’s saddle sheath, and she pulls her riding gloves out and dons them. She squeezes her legs against Rocinante’s warm body, starts to take off and then pulls up sharp - _oh, right._

The Thief is quietly leaning against the stall closest to the barn door, his face cast in shadow from the lone lantern that is burning.

He looks… sexy.

She nudges Rocinante forward until she is next to him, and she she’s not sure if she likes looking down at him from up here - it feels, _appropriate_ , she thinks - and that’s probably good, she has to get her feet planted firmly back on solid ground. Cannot afford any more slips, can’t show any weakness to Snow or her followers.

“I suppose this is where we part ways,” he says softly, taking a step forward to stroke his hand down Rocinante’s muscular neck.

“I suppose so.” She isn’t sure what to say.

She watches, her pulse jumping up a little, as he runs his hand all the way down to the saddle and reaches for her gloved hand. She lets him take it.

He brings her hand to his lips, holding eye contact as he presses a soft, _appropriate_ kiss to the leather and says, “Truly, it has been my pleasure, Your Majesty.”

 

She’s starting to find _appropriate_ annoying.

 

“I’m sure,” she replies, knowing it’s curt and doesn’t care.

He smiles up at her, his grin mischievous.

Her brow furrows. “What?” she snaps.

He holds her gaze for a moment, drops her hand to stroke his own from her thigh to the top of her boot, squeezes her calf and says, “Why is it that eye contact with you always feels like foreplay?”

 

So much for appropriate.

 

She bites her tongue and rolls her eyes, nudges Rocinante out the door, spurs him into a gallop, and thunders toward the castle.

She does not look back.

 

 

 


	9. The Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning - Violence and Gore here

 

Chapter Eight - The Deal 

 

The castle is still and quiet as she approaches. Dawn is breaking, light streaming across the tops of the barracks as she rides swiftly into the courtyard and slows to a walk. There are guards in all the right places, torches are lit appropriately, nothing seems amiss.

She cracks her neck and pulls her riding gloves off as she prepares to dismount, when something catches her eye - a flutter.  A tiny blue bird swoops down from the barracks and lands on the well in the center of the courtyard, and a rush of adrenaline slices through Regina.

 

So.

 

This is it, then.

 

Regina finishes removing her gloves, tucks them into their place on her saddle, and closes her eyes. Breathes in deep through her nose.

It is a good day for this.

She feels calm, and strong, and though she rode through the night, she feels focused and ready.

“My, my, Snow,” she drawls, “You’ve been busy while I was away.”

She sees now, that the guardsmen are not hers. They wear her armor, yes, but their stature is incorrect, they have not been trained to move in the heavy armor, and to the knowing eye, it is obvious. _Dwarves_ , she guesses.

The bitch steps out from a nearby door that leads to the cellar. She’s dressed in some horrible, frumpy leather pants and tunic and has a longbow at the ready, as if she thinks that is a threat.

Regina smirks.

“I’ve come to negotiate your surrender, Regina,” she says arrogantly.

Regina breaks into a laugh. “ _My_ surrender?”

“Yes,” Snow continues, her chin lifting, trying and failing to mimic the grace of her long dead mother.

“Fine.” Regina agrees, and it visibly throws the younger woman - she leans forward in anticipation. “I have only one term,” Regina replies, grinning. “That should make it easy enough, don’t you think?”

“What is your term?” the girl asks, and she’s such a spoiled brat that Regina can see the victory already shining in her big, stupid doe eyes.

“I will surrender, I’ll give up everything I have - my throne, my castle, my fortune, my lands - I’ll give it all up, Snow, just as you’ve always wanted,” she says smoothly, keeping her voice steady as she leads the conversation.

“What do you want, Regina?” Snow says bluntly, and it grates on Regina’s nerves. The girl is absolutely no fun to spar with verbally, she simply doesn’t possess the intellect for it.

Regina leans forward in her saddle, baring her teeth as she let’s all the menace and anger she feels deep down in the pit of her soul rumble out and into her words as she growls, “Your death.”

“You’re insane -” Snow starts, obviously shaken - did not expect that answer.

“Come now, Snow - surely one life sacrificed for the security and safety of an entire kingdom, _dare I say realm_ , is worth it to be rid of the _Evil_ Queen. Don’t you agree?” she says sweetly, convincingly. She thoroughly enjoys mocking the girl, will miss it when one of them is dead.

“Obviously we’re not going to get anywhere on this,” Snow grumbles, and then she says, “You leave me no choice Regina, we will take you by force.”

“Like father like daughter,” Regina snarls, leaping down from her horse, drawing her short sword as she goes. “Bring it.”

There is the clamoring sound of plate metal as the guards leap to action, and she’s ready, she’s _so_ ready for this. Snow has the audacity to fire her stupid arrow at her, but Regina catches it easily. It wasn’t even going to strike a vital organ.

She honestly expected more from the girl.

Two guards reach her at once, one swinging a sword, the other a two-handed axe, and she dodges easily, bends backward sharply as she runs at them, the blade of the axe sweeping over the top of her as she slides on her knees, swinging her sword and hamstringing the dwarf with the longsword. He goes down screaming, and Regina spins smoothly and stands, swinging her blade in a sharp uppercut, slicing an arm clean off the dwarf with the axe.

Blood sprays everywhere, and it is a balm to Regina. It is retribution. The more blood that pours the better she feels. It is payment well past due.

Another of the guards comes at her, to her left, and she promptly separates his head from his neck.

 

And this is ridiculous, really, because she hasn’t even had to _think_ about using her magic - the dwarves make such poor warriors that her finely tuned short sword skills are no match for them. Pigs to slaughter, she thinks.

 

She kills another two dwarves as Snow fires another arrow at her from the safe distance she’s keeping, and Regina bats it away with her hand. The girl cries out to the barracks, and oh, _now that’s better_ , Regina thinks, as wildmen with bows and staves stand up from their hiding spot.

 

Finally, a challenge.

 

She makes a charge for Snow, but two more guards block her as she goes, and now that she’s being shot at with arrows and staves, it gets a bit more complicated - she can only catch and deflect so many arrows at once. She’s starting to wonder if she’ll get a hit in on Snow before they bring her down, it’s really all she wants at this point - knows there are too many of them to defeat without the use of her magic.

 

And that’s OK.

 

But she would still like to slap Snow’s face before she dies.

 

That’s the deciding factor for her - she makes another move for the girl, parrying expertly with one of the guards that blocks her path - she easily disarms him, kicks him in the chest and shoves her blade through his abdomen as he bends backward, trying to catch his balance. She catches an arrow in her left hand that was headed straight for her ear, and that was pretty close, but she’s got one more guard to go and -

 

_The bitch is running._

 

The rage that fires within Regina is absolute - she sees red, the boiling fury exploding from within her as she screams at Snow’s back in frustration, dodging quickly to avoid a hail of arrows and one particularly well thrown stave as the last guard blocks her path.

She could use her magic now. Could kill every person in this courtyard with a twist of her wrist.

But no. _No._

She goes for it then, slamming her shoulder into the last guard, knocking him flat, as she bolts after Snow - she will run that fucking bitch down if she has to - and she’s gaining on her, Regina’s legs are longer, she’s in better shape, but then a horrible high pitched shriek echoes across the courtyard, and dread - absolute sickening dread crashes over Regina as she slides to a stop, turning sharply - and she watches Rocinante fall, a stave sticking clean through his side.

 

A scream of horror, of pure despair rips from Regina, and she feels what was left of her heart break in her chest, feels it come apart with grief for her dear, sweet, innocent friend.

She’s frozen. And it’s like slow motion, she cannot move as his big body topples to the earth, and she can’t breathe, she’s dying - she’s dying with him, because she can’t live in a world without anyone who loves her, without anyone whom she loves, and he was the last of them, the very last, and she’s done.

This is the end.

She gives up, her sword slips from her fingertips, clattering against the stone.

 

There is nothing that Snow White has not taken from her now.

 

She stares at her old friend from twenty feet away and there are tears running down her face but she doesn’t shake, doesn’t make a single sound as she waits for the stinging pain of the arrows to cut into her body.

There is a sound then, of chaos and battle, but she can’t bring herself to pull her eyes from her friend. Her feet shuffle slowly toward him. She will not let him die alone.

Arrows hail around her, she hears the muffled clatter of staves as they strike and bounce against the cobblestones, but she keeps walking, keeps staring into the wild, rolling eyes of her oldest and dearest friend as the blood pools around his thick body, painting the gray stones crimson.

She falls to her knees before him, hands reaching for his thick neck as he thrashes, and she doesn’t even try to pull the magic, knows that it won’t come, it won’t spark at all - her grief is too much and she is helpless yet again. She topples over him, weaves her fingers into his thick mane, digging in tightly as her tears drip down onto him, and she wishes she had died that night. Wishes Leopold had killed her. She cannot bear the grief of all of them.

 

Daniel.

 

Henry.

 

Rocinante.

 

Regina.

 

She feels Rocinante’s hot blood soaking into her pants, but she doesn’t care, she’s going to die anyway. They can kill her right here, with her friend. Kill them together and let their blood mix and run through the cracks of the cobblestone, seep into the earth below and wash away with the summer rain.

 

“Regina!”

She hears her name, doesn’t care, doesn’t bother to move or look up from where she holds her sweet horse’s head.

“Regina, fight!” she hears. But she ignores it. She will not fight. She is done.

 

Someone skids into her, bumping harshly against her, and she knows it’s the Thief, can smell the pine over the copper she's drowning in. He’s all movement and flurry around her, but she closes her eyes, buries her nose into Rocinante’s fur, inhales his sweet scent deep into her lungs.

She feels the spatter of something warm against the back of her neck, the sounds of battle a little louder as the Thief bumps against her again, on her other side now, and then he’s yelling at her.

 

“Regina, GET. UP. AND. FIGHT!” he commands, and she slides her eyes slowly to his.

 

Can’t he see that she’s already dead?

 

He grabs her roughly by the back of the neck, pulling her head up, shaking her by the shoulders,  yelling at her - “Look, Regina _\- look!_ You still have a chance at her - FIGHT! Get up and FIGHT!”

There is something in her that surges to life, sweeps directly from his hands and into her body, revives her broken soul just enough that suddenly the rage is back, and she’s looking - she _is_ looking - and Snow White is still there, on the far side of the courtyard, was not able to flee because an entire company of woodsmen have blocked the exits and are expertly taking down the wildmen with bows and daggers of their own.

The world feels like it’s in slow motion as she gets to her feet, the warm, equine blood running down her legs as she pulls herself to her full height. She rolls her neck around, closes her eyes for a moment, centering herself - the world goes quiet, dark, and she thinks of the Thief, of his warm, calming touch - and a rush of magic swirls through her. She latches onto it, letting it build, encouraging it, stoking the energy to life - she can feel her palms burn sweetly with the flames that flicker to life in them - a surge of power rushes through her, and her eyes snap open and meet the crystal blues of the Thief.

“Get her,” he snarls - he’s as angry as Regina is - and he slams his mouth to hers, his lips and tongue hot against her own, and it is rough and wet and it pours strength right into her fractured heart. He pulls back suddenly and fires two arrows at once - takes out two wildmen somewhere behind her, and then he’s off and sprinting hard, stabbing another one through the neck with an arrow as he easily chases down two more.

Regina turns sharply, Snow has her back against a wall, is firing arrows with her long bow but she’s slow to reload, and when she sees Regina coming for her she shrieks in fear, takes off down the side of the courtyard. Regina’s magic is propelling her now, and she’s taking long strides but moving much, much faster than that, and the magic is flowing hard through her - she’s raising her hands as she goes - she snaps three necks with one twist of her hand here, incinerates six men with a fireball there, crushes two more to death as she flings their bodies against the stone wall and then she’s on her - has easily overtaken the whimpering brat as she backs her up against a pillar.

Snow is pleading with her, blubbering like a moron as she cries, “Please Regina, no! I promise to stop! I _promise_! It’s yours! I surrender! Please!”

Regina backhands her - the <SMACK> loud even amongst the other sounds of battle, and Snow cries out, blood running down from the split skin of her cheek where Regina’s queen’s ring has clipped her.

 

The irony is positively beautiful.

 

Regina leans in close to Snow’s face, puts one hand on her forehead as she shoves her head back against the pillar, the other tight around her throat, squeezing hard, and she watches in vicious satisfaction as the purpling bruise blooms on Snow’s cheekbone.

Snow’s face is turning a little blue with the lack of oxygen, and Regina takes a moment to watch as the blood drips down the girl's cheek, slides down her neck, and it is so, unbelievably satisfyingly. The magic thrums through her and she suddenly lets go of Snow's throat, lets her gasp stupidly for air, and when she brings her head up, Regina pulls back and hits her with a full right hook.

The force of it shoves Snow’s head hard against the stone behind her, bouncing off of it, and Regina hits her again, and again, and she thinks she might be screaming at her but things have gone red around the edges - her magic is surging in her and her fury is absolutely uncontrollable.

Suddenly, she is jerked back, two hands have come up under her armpits to grasp her by the shoulders, hauling her off, and she fights hard, swings and kicks and uses her magic to pull her out of the grip, and she gets another solid hit on Snow, rears back for another before she’s pulled back again, and spun this time. Robin is there in front of her with his hands up and he’s grinning at her like an idiot and laughing as he says, “Enough, darling, enough!” and just as suddenly as she had lost control, she calms. He is right. It's Enough.

She looks around the courtyard and it is mass murder. Dead wildmen and dwarves litter the yard, the barracks - blood is absolutely everywhere - and it is quiet as Robin's men, she assumes that's who they are, work their way through the bodies, looting anything of value. It is gorey and messy and there is the scent of death in the air, and the Thief is grinning at her and it just shoots straight through her and she can't help it -

 

She starts to laugh.

 

And it's a manic, evil sounding, slightly hysterical thing that pours from her lungs, leaping into the cool morning air around them, and she braces one hand on Robin's shoulder as she doubles over with it, her body shaking with the exertion. He's laughing too, because he's as fucked up as she is, it seems, and they take a few minutes to just stare at each other and bask in the victory.

 

 

There is a swirl of black smoke near the courtyard entrance, and Regina pulls herself together, standing up straight.

  
Well, that didn't take long.

 

“Hello, Little One,” Maleficent purrs.

“News certainly travels fast,” Regina bites off, annoyed at the interruption. It seems she isn’t the only one with spies.

Maleficent strides toward her across the blood spattered stones, her heels clacking loudly as she carefully steps over the fallen bodies and scattered weapons. “How are you Dear?” she asks, her voice light, carefree, as if they aren’t standing in the center of a blood bath.

“Not that I’m unhappy to see you, Mal, but what is it you want?” Regina says as she nears, “I’m in the middle of something.”

Maleficent throws her head back and laughs loudly as she says, “Well I can see that.” She grins at Regina, her smile brilliant, and Regina forgot how much she likes the other woman.

“I’ve come to bargain with you, Regina,” she says, seriously, and her eyes rake over the Thief as she licks her lips.

 _Mine!_ flashes through Regina’s thoughts and her eyebrows raise. That’s... unexpected.

Maleficent continues, turning her attention back to Regina. “I want the girl - or what’s left of her anyway,” she says, glancing at Snow White’s crumpled body.

“What makes you think I’m willing to give her up? I’ve only just begun.”

“Because I have something you want, something that I think will make you very, very, happy,” Maleficent steps into Regina’s space and holds out a vial filled with shimmering orange liquid.

“You know I don’t know how to use that,” Regina snaps.

“I know,” Maleficent says softly, almost comfortingly, “But I do, _and_ I’m willing to do it for you, if only you’ll let me have the girl.” Maleficent’s gaze slides to the body of Rocinante, and Regina’s eyes follow.

 

Regina has never had to make a more difficult decision.

The life of her dearest companion, or the death of her worst enemy?

 

Regina purses her lips, looks to the Thief for some reason but he’s drawn his bow, and the twang of the string is loud as he lets an arrow fly.

She whips her head to see what he shot at, and breaks into another huge grin.

Snow was trying to run - had made some decent headway, even.

But her Thief’s aim is true, and the girl never had a chance. She’s pinned to a wooden pillar with Robin’s arrow through her shoulder, and she certainly isn’t going anywhere now.

“Careful!” Maleficent scolds, “Or you’ll ruin our fun.”

Regina lets her gaze slide back to the Thief and he smirks at her, shrugs his shoulders and says, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

He walks off then, giving the two monarchs some privacy to talk things over.

“I’m not ready to give her up, Mal,” Regina confesses.

“Now, Regina, I’m sure we can come to an arrangement.”

It’s curious that Maleficent is trying so hard for the girl. “What do you want with her anyway?” Regina asks, her eyes narrowing.

“Contrary to what you’d like to believe my dear, your life isn’t the only one that was ruined by that flake of snow,” Maleficent hisses, her temper up, her normally blue eyes flashing the green of the dragon for a second as she directs her gaze at Snow.

Regina nods, tilts her head to the side and considers. She knows this to be true.

 

If she’s being honest with herself she hasn’t really thought beyond the death of Snow White. Doesn’t have a clear picture of what she’s going to do with her life now that she’s achieved her sweet revenge.

She thought it would feel... better?

But the pain is still there - she thinks of Daniel and of Henry, and now, Rocinante, and her chest still aches - the grief is sharp and panicky. For the first time, she considers all of the other people who have suffered from the madness Snow has caused, and she’s still angry, yes - but the emotional pain has not abated like she was so certain it would.

It seems she no longer has a use for Snow White.

 

Regina’s hand smarts and she looks down at her torn skin and bruised knuckles - thinks that she may have broken her hand - and suddenly, the decision is made.

“What do you propose, you get her Tuesdays and Thursdays? Every other weekend?” she can’t stop the teasing smile that tips the corners of her lips.

Maleficent's grin returns, her perfect teeth stark white against her bright red lipstick. “How about if she makes it to Tuesday, we’ll renegotiate?”

Regina casts one last look at the entitled, awful brat who has caused her so much trouble, wishes her death to be filled with terrible, terrible pain, and turns back to Maleficent.

“You have a deal.”

 

 

 


	10. The Spoon

 

Chapter Nine - The Spoon 

 

As it turns out, Roland isn’t nearly as shy as the first impression he gave.

At least, he’s not shy with her – it seems that aside from those sweet dimples, he also inherited his father’s inability to maintain a formal, _appropriate_ relationship with her.

But Regina can’t seem to mind whenever Roland takes her hand in his as they walk along the castle corridors, when he seeks her out in the library and asks her to read to him as he pulls himself into her lap, when he sweetly calls her ‘Gina as he plunks down next to her every morning at the breakfast table, his whole side flush with hers.

 

No, she doesn’t mind at all.

 

There is something about the sweet boy that endears her to him – she would say it is his innocence but knows that innocence never stayed her blade nor bite in the past. So she accepts that it is just _Roland_ himself – his silly personality and charm - slowly mending what remains of her broken heart. The pain she feels for the loss of her own child does not leave, but the formerly sharp edges of it feel slightly dulled and she is able to spend time with Roland without falling into an anxiety attack most of the time now.

It has been a month since the battle with Snow White, and while she is still broken, still grieving, she is starting to see changes in herself. She sleeps at night now, just a few hours but still, she has not had a good night’s rest in years. She eats at regular mealtimes – part of this because she is actually hungry and the other because she enjoys the time with Roland. And when she swings herself up on Rocinante, whom Maleficent managed to make whole and young again in exchange for the brat, Regina actually allows herself to feel enjoyment, however small that may be.

It is as if she has started to return to the woman she was before all of the tragedy. Well, almost.

She is still a strict and unbending ruler – requires absolute obedience from her guard and staff, enforces laws and taxes on her people, but the murdering has (mostly) stopped. Contrary to what Snow would have had everyone believe, Regina has always been a capable monarch – her people are, and have been, prosperous under her rule, and Regina muses that that is probably what drove Snow to such lengths to overthrow her. The idea that Regina could actually be a better ruler than her beloved father must have eaten at her every single day. She smiles at the thought.

She still can’t bring herself to use her magic much. It is a very strange feeling to have gone without for so long and now have the opportunity and the will to use it again.

 

She could say the same about her libido.

 

Robin had offered her the services of his men almost the second the battle was over. Many of her castle guard had been killed – had fought to the death defending the castle, and she revived those she could but the majority were without hope. So Regina accepted the offer – she is certain that no one else is currently after her head, but the tides tend to shift so suddenly that she’s not willing to take a chance that she doesn’t have to.

The men are actually quite skilled and relatively well mannered – fewer items have gone missing than she expected – and they seem to fit in well with her own guard, which is something she was _not_ anticipating. It seems many of Robin’s men are looking for new purpose, are tired of fooling with Prince John’s men, and Regina has the ability to give them that. They are respectful of her and loyal due to her saving of Robin and Roland, and it is strange for her to have such devotion from a group of men she once considered nothing more than petty wolfsheads.

When she asked Robin how he knew there was to be an attack, things became a bit… tense. He looked embarrassed, or rather, like he was _trying_ to look embarrassed, and fed her a story that he was coming to deliver a package from Granny – apple turnovers – when he realized what was happening. According to his account, Robin’s men had conveniently been nearby – after the werewolf incident Robin had sent them to guard Granny’s, wanted to provide what protection he could as thanks.

 

But she never did get those turnovers.

 

She doesn’t quite know what to do about their previous… _encounters_ now that she is back in her throne and he is effectively acting captain of her castle guard. He is no less attractive to her, he is more so, to be honest, but they haven’t shared any intimate moments since their return and she feels conflicted and nervous about it. His eyes are hot on her, are _always_ on her it seems, and it’s starting to drive her a little crazy. He appears in her eyeline often - happens upon her in the library, crosses paths with her constantly, takes his meals at the same time as she, is grooming horses in the stables when she is either gathering her mount or returning it. And she doesn’t mind - doesn’t mind seeing him or being near him _at all_ \- but he never makes a move toward her, never engages her in conversation outside that which she propagates.

What is it he wants? Is he only interested in sex, or is it more to him?

She can't even answer those questions for herself. Well, she can’t answer _both_ questions. She certainly wants the sex.

She cuts a bite of the apple crisp strudel she is sharing with Roland and glances down the table as she brings it to her lips. Sure enough, from several seats away he is looking right at her, and she drops the dessert from her fork as her her stomach drops. He throws her small, knowing smile and goes back to his plate.

 

Oh, Thief.

 

He has no idea what he's up against.

 

She drops her gaze back to the dessert - Roland is making quick work of it, but he’s more into the strudel than the side of vanilla ice cream that came with it. She tries hard to fight a smirk.

She checks to make sure no one else is watching her, then takes the ice cream and runs her spoon around the inside of the glass. She can feel his gaze back on her as she swirls and swirls her spoon, then drags the tip of it lightly across the top to gather a small bite. She slowly licks her dark red painted lips in anticipation, and brings the spoon up to her mouth. Instead of eating it, she lets the spoon drift closer and closer, and she smears just a tiny amount across her bottom lip. She makes sure he has a second to see the white coating her lips, and then she runs her tongue over it, sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, biting a little, and goes back to the spoon. She holds it a little way out in front of her lips this time and slowly, very slowly, lets her tongue swipe the rest of the cold treat from the spoon. She licks again, thoroughly cleaning it front and back, and then she slips the spoon into her mouth, closes her eyes and let’s it slide partially out, then back in again before she finally starts to pull it from her mouth, sucking it hard enough to hollow her cheeks just a little, and then releases it with a quiet, wet smack of her lips.

 

He moans.

 

She opens her eyes and turns to look at him, mimicking the actions of several other nearby people. His lips are parted, neck flushed, hot desire obvious in his eyes, and his knuckles are white where he grips the edge of the large table.

She smirks when he finally tears his eyes from her mouth to meet her eyes, then she winks and goes in for another spoonful.

Robin abruptly stands from the table, almost knocking over his chair with the movement, quietly excuses himself and strides quickly from the hall.

Regina fights the laugh that is trying to bubble up - she does not want to draw attention to herself, so she tucks into Roland and engages him in a conversation about which book he would like to read together today.

She does not see Robin for the rest of the afternoon.

 

 

 


	11. The Throne Room

 

 

Chapter Ten - The Throne Room 

 

It is late in the evening when Prince James arrives. Regina is set to receive him in her throne room so they can complete the necessary niceties before their new trade negotiations begin.

She’s selected an exceedingly low cut dress for this evening - smooth black silk with an outrageously deep vee neckline that extends to the bottom of her sternum, kept closed only by a few fire-red laces that pull it tight together, creating a more than generous amount of cleavage. It is accented by gold lace that’s studded with diamonds, amplifying the effect. She tops it off with a black outer jacket that has frilly red lace sleeves and a high, red and black ribbed collar. Her face is expertly made up, her lipstick a perfect match to the red accents of her dress, and she’s pulled the front of her hair up and back to accentuate the long column of her throat that leads down to all that extra skin she’s showing off.

Regina has dealt with James many times - he is shallow and arrogant, but openly willing to give her whatever she wants when he comes to visit. If George knew that his son was such a terrible negotiator with her, Regina is certain he would visit her himself - but James is also smart, and can be quite charming, and so has yet to be caught. Regina knows from past experience that the more distracted she can make him, the better the deal she will get - and James is _always_ distracted by her chest.

She’s relaxed back in her throne when James arrives, and she’s surrounded by several guardsmen and her advisers. Robin is there, representing the head of her royal guard, and he stands quietly off to one side, his shoulder leaned against the wall as his sharp eyes roam the room. He looks handsome tonight, more than usual - his short scruff is neatly trimmed and he’s wearing a black tunic that has her crest on it. His visual display of loyalty makes her breath catch, warmth rushing through her stomach and then south, and she clenches a little just looking at him.

James is politely formal as he strides in quickly, a group of pompous page boys and his own guards with him. He makes his way to her immediately, giving her a deep, respectful bow and then moving to kiss her hand when she extends it to him. He looks handsome, fit and lean, clean shaven, and his blond hair is longer than the last time she saw him, pushed back and to the side. She thinks he may have had a drink or two recently, based on the flush in his cheeks. Or perhaps she’s caused the flush - he’s having an extremely difficult time pulling his eyes from her chest as she asks him, for the second time, how his journey was.

James licks his lips and gathers himself, giving her that winning smile, but then he seems to give back into temptation - looks her up and down again - and finally says, “My dear Regina - you’re more beautiful than ever - black always was your color.”

She smiles broadly at him. He’s so predictable.

They discuss plans for the next few days and then she calls an end to it. It’s late and she wouldn’t mind having a few minutes to herself before bed this evening - she still needs to decide on an outfit for tomorrow and a hot bath sounds absolutely delicious.

She stands from her throne and the rest of the group makes for the exit. James comes over to her, gets up close in her personal space, and she almost laughs at his absurd behavior. She’s known him for years but never once has she allowed him any kind of liberties with her outside of a few strategically timed heated looks and light touches. Because it’s all a game - if she gives him what he wants, she’ll have to find a new way to distract him in order to get what _she_ wants, and this is way too fun - _easy_ \- and fun.

“Regina,” he says softly to her as he steps closer, and now he’s very close - she has to tip her head back a little to speak with him. “I was so glad to hear of the death of that bandit girl who gave you so much trouble,” he says with a smirk. “I heard she begged for her life in the end.”

Regina lifts an eyebrow and smiles a little deviously up at him. He knows full well that _that bandit girl_ was Princess Snow, and so his derogatory term for the girl is a purposeful compliment to Regina. “It was quite disappointing,” she says.

He cocks his head to the side and leans in a little, lowering his voice as he says, “It seems there is finally more to life than just looking for the next fight with her. Perhaps you’ll start looking for more _intimate_ moments in which to spend your time...” he trails off as he reaches up and strokes his fingers down the side of the high, ribbed collar of her jacket. He lets his hand follow it down to where it ends, which happens to be just below her left breast, and he pinches the fabric, gives it a little tug, and doesn’t let go.

Regina smirks, allows his hand to stay where it is. He’s making this so easy for her it’s almost comical. The expression he’s wearing as he stares at her cleavage is nothing short of _thirsty_.

“Perhaps.” she says softly, letting her eyes slide to his lips, then down his chest. She licks her lips and continues, “I do hope I can depend on you to help me identify any moments that might meet the criteria of _intimate_ , James.”

His eyes lock on her lips, and she’s a little nervous that she may have pushed him too hard - that he’s going to try to kiss her, and she can’t let that happen, so she preempts it. She steps even closer to him, her breasts come into contact with his chest as she reaches up to pull his head down to her. She acts like she’s going for his lips but at the last second she diverts, lets her lips brush the shell of his ear as she says, “It’s been _so long_ since I’ve had an _intimate_ moment.”

His body shudders against her and she steps back a little, but he still has a hold on the collar of her jacket, and he slides his hand over to the neckline of her dress that rests low on the top of her breast. He lets his fingers trail across it, then down into the vee, down, down, and she’s going to have to stop him soon, but she’s honestly a little shocked by his actions. He’s never actually followed through on her teasing before.

They both watch his hand descend - his fingers start to press against the edge of the fabric, are about to slide underneath, and she’s a breath from stopping him when someone suddenly clears their throat, snapping them out of their “moment”.

She steps back quickly, and he lets his hand fall away. She gives him a teasing smile and turns her head to identify the owner of the noise.

 

It’s Robin.

 

 _Jesus_  - she didn’t even hear him walk in.

 

And he is _not_ happy.

 

But she has to keep up her charade, has to keep James on his leash, so she returns her eyes to James and snaps, “What is it, Thief?”

“My apologies, _Your Majesty,_ but Prince James’ advisers have requested his presence in the East Cabinet.” His voice is a low rumble, and she can hear the jealousy bleeding through it.

Regina continues to smile at James, cocks her head in question. Will he stay or will he go?

James reaches for her hand then, brings it to his lips and places a slow kiss against the back, rubs his thumb across her knuckles.

“My apologies, Your Majesty, I’m afraid I had better attend to business this evening. Until tomorrow?” He says, the implication clear in his expression.

She lets her smile broaden, runs her eyes down his body again and says, “Goodnight, James.”

He kisses her hand again and takes his leave, walks right past Robin as if he didn’t exist, and strides confidently from the throne room.

 

She takes one look at Robin, and oh boy - she is in _trouble_.

 

He maintains his position across the room, his eyes staring heatedly at her. His muscled arms are crossed tightly, his whole body rigid - she thinks he might be grinding his teeth by the way his jaw is set. Regina takes a deep breath, collects herself, and makes to move for the door.

She’s not sure what to say to him. She feels… guilty? And she knows she has no reason to feel that way. They aren’t together. They aren’t even friends, really.

“I see that your hospitality is... without exception, Your Majesty.” he says quietly as she nears him. His eyes are nearly on fire with the heat he’s throwing at her.

Her temper flares. “It would be wise to keep your mouth shut on matters that don’t involve you,” she snaps. Who is he to say these things to her? She is the queen. And there are more important things at stake than the pride of one thief.

She continues past him and reaches for the heavy wooden door of the exit. Suddenly, the partially open door slams closed - he is behind her, moved so fast she didn’t even register it - and he’s leaning over her and pressing his palm firmly into the wood.

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” she exclaims, spinning around quickly.

It’s a mistake - he’s so close to her that she bumps into him as she turns.

Before she knows what’s happening, he grabs both her wrists and backs her up flush against the door, pinning her hands to the wood at eye level as his hips shove against hers. He’s already hard against her belly, and her chest is heaving with the adrenaline rush he elicits as his body comes in close to hers, his head angling to the right as if he might kiss her.

She could push him off her, could use her magic to throw him right across the room, but she is entirely too caught up in the moment to even consider it.

 

She doesn’t feel afraid - she feels turned on.

 

On instinct, her eyes fall to his lips, her head tilting to the side, matching the way his lips hover mere inches from hers, and she waits, wondering what he will do.

His face inches closer to her as his hands release her wrists, stroking along her arms and moving in to grasp the wide collar of her jacket.

His fingers stroke the edge, down to where her jacket meets and is held together with a large, gold clasp. He opens it.

Regina’s pulse races - his blue eyes are fierce as his hands slide up to her shoulders under the jacket, pushing it back and down until it slips off and pools at their feet. His breath huffs out heavily against her mouth as he discovers that the dress is completely strapless - her bare skin is now on display from the tops of her breasts to the small of her back.

He pulls back a little to look at her, and his gaze heats her skin, draws a flush from her that makes her just a little bit shaky with anticipation. He lightly runs the tips of his fingers across her exposed flesh, from the swells of her breasts and up to her shoulders, and she feels like he’s trying to memorize her as he touches her.

 

“Is  _this_ a matter that does not concern me?” he whispers against her lips.

 

She shivers as he tucks his head in close to her neck, his hot breath hitting her sensitive skin and raising gooseflesh down and across her chest. He drops a smooth, closed mouth kiss to the corner of her jaw, and she tilts her head for him, effectively answering his question. He takes the permission she has granted him and opens his mouth against her neck as he places slow, sucking kisses against her, scrapes his teeth lightly across and to the top of her shoulder, then works his way down and over her chest.

When his mouth reaches the neckline of her gown, he licks softly at the swell of her breasts, and she lets her chest thrust toward him a little. His feather light touch, his kisses, are breathtaking - lighting sparks of pleasure that streak across her chest and straight to her nipples. Her lips are parted, and she grasps him tightly at his waist, keeping him in close to her.

She watches excitedly as his hands come up to the top lace in the front of the dress, and he pulls - the material lets go and exposes more of her skin to him. His gaze is completely focused on her chest, and she watches, mesmerized, as he bites his bottom lip.

Something comes over her - pure desire - as her hands come up to his and she roughly pulls the next three laces.

She needs his mouth on her, and she needs it _right now_.

As the fabric loosens, her breasts become completely exposed, and it creates an alluring effect - with the lower laces still in place, her naked mounds remain pressed together and pushed up, presented to him, her nipples erect, sensitive, and aching for his touch. He reaches for her, brushes his thumbs, so, so light against the very tips of her pink nubs, and a shot of heat rushes to her sex, wetness pooling. He pinches her softly, twisting just a little and then he moves to cup her soft mounds. He kneads and massages her, his eyes completely focused on her breasts, and it feels so good but it’s not quite what she wants, not what she _needs_ tonight.

“Put your mouth on me,” she says low, rough. He brings his eyes to hers and gives her a very serious look.

“If I put my lips on these tits, I’m never going to stop, Regina,” he says quickly, rushed. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

He’s not playing fair when he says it - he squeezes her again and then runs the backs of his fingers over her sensitive peaks.

“Do as I say,” she commands, but her voice isn’t sharp like she intended - it’s soft, breathy. _Woops_.

He gives her a dubious look, and her temper rises - if he’s going to act like an idiot, then she has better things to do with her time (no she doesn’t).

She reaches up and grasps his chin firmly - his eyes finally meet hers. “If you’re not going to fuck me, Thief, then I am more than capable of finding someone who will,” she says, irritated.

He actually physically startles against her, like he’s just been woken from a dream and has been jerked back to reality. His breathing gets a little erratic, and she sees - knows - that he’s having a moment of panic, like he’s just lost whatever game he was playing with her.

His reaction confuses her, so she takes pity on him and slides her hand from his chin, strokes along his jaw and wraps her fingers around the back of his thick neck. She pulls his head down to her, presses her lips softly to his, and suddenly he comes back to life, surges into her and shoves his tongue into her mouth. It’s hot and wet and deep, and he presses his entire body to hers, trapping her against the door, thrusting his tongue into her mouth as he pulls and nips her lips with his.

His hands go to her skirt and he starts bunching the fabric up, up, until finally she feels his hands on her bare thighs, and she cheats - uses magic to get rid of her underwear - because who has time for that? His hands slide unhindered up to her sex, where she is hot, and wet, and ready for him.

He slides his fingers against her, working her clit smoothly as he pulls his lips from hers, drops his head down and immediately sucks a nipple into his mouth.

Her back arches sharply and she breathes out _Yes-yes-yes_ as he starts to work her over. His lips pull and flick against each peak, alternating between them and nipping the soft skin next to them as he goes. He lavs the undersides of her breasts, then slides his tongue deep into her cleavage and slides it all the way to the top, punctuating it with a hard sucking kiss at the top.

His fingers flutter and flick against her clit, then two of them slide through her slick lips and thrust up into her roughly, and she gasps out, jerks her hips toward him with the pleasure. She feels swollen and soaked and throbbing for him, as his fingers move quickly in and out of her as he sucks hard on a nipple, and it's good, it's _so_ good, but she wants more, needs him to fuck her, needs him _now._

“Robin -” she says, panting - “I need it, I can’t wait anymore,” and she knows that she’s begging, whining for his touch, but she feels insane with need - her sex is so sensitive and she craves the feel of being stretched around his thick length again. Without waiting for an answer, she goes for his belt, slides the leather out and undoes the buckle, unties his pants quickly.

He still has one hand working her dripping sex - thick, calloused fingers thrusting slowly - the other hand squeezing her breast while his thumb flicks back and forth over the sensitive peak, when she finally gets her hands around his cock and pulls him out.

He moans and kisses her hard as she slides his hot length through her fist, and she pulls back to look down at him.

God, he’s big - long and thick and _so_ hard - she smooths the pads of her fingers along his length, all the way to the hilt and then back up to the soft skin of the head where she lets her thumb swirl over the tip. There’s a drop of precum seeping from him, and she swipes two fingers over it, brings the fingers to her mouth and rubs it across her bottom lip, mimicking the ice cream incident.

“ _Fucking Christ,_ ” he moans, and she lets her tongue run across her bottom lip before she pulls it into her mouth, scraping it with her top teeth and licking her lips to clean it off.

He groans loudly and then he is a flurry of motion - he moves so fast she’s a little bit helpless when suddenly he grabs her left leg, hooks it under his elbow, lines up and drives himself deep into her.

She moans in surprise, he feels so good and he’s as thick as she remembers - she’s stretched tight around him, but he doesn’t give her time to do anything but hold on as he starts thrusting into her, giving her short, shallow strokes that bump her ass against the wooden door. He reaches for her right wrist and pins it up beside her, slides his hand up to weave his fingers through hers as his thrusts get deeper, and she loves it, wants more of him, wants him to fuck her harder.

“More,” she pants, trying to get her brain to work well enough to string a sentence together. “Deeper, Robin,” she tries again.

He drags her hand to his shoulder and leaves it there - she barely registers what he’s doing - he grabs her by the backs of her thighs, lifts her up and starts pistoning hard and fast into her as he fucks her up against the door.

She grasps for his thick shoulders but she’s too far gone - can barely hang on as he slides in and out of her dripping cunt, can feel the heat rising and rising within her, her breasts, her chest feels warm, everything tightening as he drives into her over and over, grunting against her with the effort, his strong arms tight and steady around her as he works hard against her.

Suddenly he slows, nips her neck, the line of her jaw, thrusts a few more times, and then he shifts her in his arms as he steps back from the door. His hot, wet cock slips out of her - she groans with the loss - but he’s already moving, walking them toward - _oh god_ \- he’s not thinking - they are **_so_** not going to do it there - they can’t - the implication - _oh god_ \- but that’s exactly what he does - he walks to her throne and sets her on her feet, spins her around and pushes her forward so that she’s kneeling on the seat facing away from him, and then he grabs her by the hips, pushes her forward a little, and drives his hot, thick length back inside of her.

 

And _oh god_.

 

She can’t believe she’s doing this.

 

He’s fucking her _on-her-knees-on-her-throne_ and it is so, so _not appropriate_ \- she should stop it - stop it immediately, but he’s driving into her in these long, deep strokes as he snakes his hand around her shaking thigh and finds her clit, rubbing quickly, eliciting hot, pulsing pleasure that radiates up from her overstimulated nub to her hard nipples then deep inside of her to that ultra sensitive spot that he’s hitting now with each thrust.

She’s moaning and she can’t stop, her hands brace against the arms of the huge chair, and he’s jostling her, her breasts swaying with the force, her dress bunched up ridiculously around her waist. She arches her back and he hits that sensitive spot better, and she shrieks out a little - it feels so, so good, and now she _does_ beg - she’s the Evil Queen and she’s begging him to fuck her harder as she kneels on her own throne - and she should hate it, should hate him for this but suddenly she doesn’t fucking care - the words spill from her lips and she’s powerless to stop them _\- More! Harder! Oh-right there-oh god! Faster, Robin-I’m-so-close!_

She feels the hand that’s not working her clit slide to her ass and he squeezes her, kneading the muscle, his blunt fingernails digging in.

She’s shaking with her arousal, can’t take much more - she’s getting too stimulated, needs to come soon, needs to come so badly, and she tells him, begs him to do it, to please _please_ get her off.

His hand presses down on the small of her back, forcing her to arch a little sharper, and _oh god_ he’s hitting her perfect, _perfect_ \- she’s tightening, clenching more, more - he’s rubbing her clit fast, and the combination of the two is too much, she’s about to come- _just about_ \- suddenly, he <smacks> her ass **_hard_**. The shock stops her from coming but drives her up another notch, her nipples so tight they almost hurt - he slaps her ass again, and she clenches hard on his cock, almost shoving him out - and then he bends forward, his chest almost touching her back, and he says directly into her ear _Mine!_ \- slaps her stinging cheeks again, thrusts into her deep, and she loses it - bucks her hips and absolutely _explodes_ \- has no control - she’s sobbing out, her fingernails scratching into the wood of the throne, hips gyrating wildly as he slams into her, again-again-again, wraps the thick length of her hair around his hand and pulls her head back, arching her further, and she feels the wetness pour out of her as he accidently slips out, but then he’s back inside her and it’s too much. She can’t take it, he’s ramming right against that white hot spot inside her, and she bursts into stars again - her hot fluid rushing down her legs, and suddenly there is fire in her hands, she’s scorching the fucking throne because she can’t stop it, has absolutely no control, and she’s so sensitive and has been spiraled up for so long it’s flirting with painful now, but finally, finally, he pulls out of her and she cries out, takes a huge, gasping breath as she twitches and shakes as she breaks from her orgasm, aftershocks shuddering violently through her.

She has no time to come down though, because suddenly he turns her over sharply so that she’s sitting properly in the chair, and he groans her name as his hot eyes stare down at her - _Fuck Regina, so fucking beautiful -_ his hand grabs for her shoulder, and _he better not_ \- _oh god he is_ \- he’s pressing her back into the throne as he comes on her chest - and she’s going to be so mad at him when they’re done, but right now she’s not - right now he’s spurting thick jets of his come onto her naked breasts, coating her thoroughly - and it shouldn’t turn her on but it does - makes her clench as she watches the hot fluid run down and drip off her nipples as he trembles and strokes himself above her.

They’re both breathing hard when they finally, finally slow, but eventually they start to get it together. She’s lounged way back in her chair, and he’s bracing above her, his hands on each of the singed arm rests as he tries to catch his breath. She is hot, and sweaty, and his come is cooling quickly on her chest, and she can’t even try to function yet. She closes her eyes and breathes through her mouth, trying to supply oxygen to her starved brain.

 

He strokes her cheek, and it's so gentle, so comforting, so _different_ from what they have just done, and she opens her eyes, reaches up and pulls him down to her for a kiss. He lingers at her lips, kisses her in between breaths, and she can’t help but notice his gaze keeps dropping to the little art project he made of her breasts.

He leans back and his fingers trail through the white fluid he’s painted her with. He absently slides his fingers through it, spreading it around and then circles down until he reaches her nipple, where he swirls his come coated fingertips around and around the bud, bringing it back to a tight peak. He drags his hand over and gives her other nipple the same treatment, and she moans as her clit throbs with the pleasure and pulls a shiver from her. He grits out a soft, _Fuuuck,_ with the image he’s just given himself, and then he takes a deep, shuddering breath and starts to straighten.

She's not done with him yet though, so as he pulls back she grabs his wrist, brings his hand to her mouth, and sucks on the fingers he’s just used to spread his come all over her.

He jerks toward her, groans out _Oh god_ as he braces his other hand tight against the backrest of her throne, and she smiles innocently up at him, swirling her tongue over and around his fingertips.

He replaces his fingers with the stroke of his tongue as he leans in and kisses her hard, and when he pulls back he drops a quick kiss to the bridge of her nose as he says, “You are so fucking perfect, Regina. _Christ_.”

Her heart jumps at his sweet words, but she bites her tongue. She doesn’t say things like that, hasn’t talked to a man like that since Daniel and she isn’t sure what’s appropriate with Robin - doesn’t know if he means sex or if he means _her_ \- so she just strokes her hand down his neck as he rises and drops her gaze.

 

It takes them a few minutes, but they are finally able to get her cleaned up enough that she doesn’t have to teleport to her bed chambers, should be presentable to make the quick trek back. He does the gentlemanly thing and walks her up, and she’s a little surprised by it, because it makes it feel like something more than fucking, and she’s not sure what to think about that. Part of her wants it. Most of her is terrified of it.

As she makes to enter her room, he pulls her to him, slides his hands up and into her long, thick hair, lifting and playing with it a little as he gives her one more intense kiss, nipping at her lips and stroking her tongue with his. He gives her a few soft, slow kisses, quietly says goodnight against her lips, then turns and heads off down the corridor.

She reaches for the handle of the door, smiling softly and a little breathless again from his kisses, but suddenly he calls her name. She turns to him, and _oh no_ , he’s got that smirk that only ever means trouble as he says, “Black may very well be your color darling, but _I_ prefer you in white.”

And then he pivots on his heel and walks off, leaving her standing in the hallway with flushed cheeks and her mouth hanging open.

 

Well done, Thief.

 

 

 


	12. The Addiction

  


Chapter Eleven - The Addiction 

  


She misses breakfast this morning because she takes too much time trying to decide which dress will distract James most. She’s tempted with a high necked backless, but she wants to play on his weaknesses, and she can’t decide if her chest being covered will make him more or less curious.

She finally compromises with a dark red velvet dress. It has a plunging neckline that’s overlaid with black lace, so it will block his sight a little but will also prevent his curious hands from trying something akin to last night. It’s a good choice, since she has recently decided that she doesn’t care to have James’ hands on her.

There is only one man she wants to touch her.

 

And she wants him to touch her _all the time_.

 

Regina _craves_ Robin. Can’t stop thinking about him. She feels nervous and excited when her thoughts drift to him, to the way he worked her last night, her stomach flipping and fluid heat rushing to prepare her body just at the thought of him.

She has had some very, very good sex in her life. Downright spectacular. But she has never - not once - lost control of her magic during an orgasm. Has never had a man work her up so much that she comes with both her physical _and_ her magical energy.

 

Until now.

 

She wants him to do it again. And again. As many times as he can make her do it, until she completely falls apart with exhaustion.  

She adds ‘addictive’ to the list.  


 

 

* * *

 

  


Regina is on her way to meet with James when she rounds a corner and is hit full force with Roland’s little body as he hurtles into her.

It jostles her but she manages to react quickly, catching the little boy with a flare of magic before he can fall and skin his palms, and he is so excited to see her that he hardly even notices that he almost knocked them both down.

She crouches down to eye level with him in the hallway and speaks softly with him. Regina is disappointed she missed breakfast - he is in a particularly good mood and he always gives her a little something to smile about throughout the day. He tells her how he discovered an apple tree, right here in the castle, and she smiles - tells him that that is her special tree, and they make a date for tomorrow afternoon to visit it so she can tell him all about it.

Her heart only hurts a little bit this time when she inevitably thinks of Henry, and it is a relief. This little boy truly is soothing the ache in her soul.

Robin walks up silently as she talks with Roland, his eyes hot as they sweep over her, and he slides around next to her, standing slightly behind her as she stands back up. Roland has both her hands clasped tightly in his, swinging them as he babbles on about what he had for breakfast, how much he missed her, and how he didn’t like his eggs.

And then Robin’s hand is on her ass.

 

She blinks, and it takes her a second to accept that that’s what is actually happening.

 

He squeezes her, slides his hand over to the other cheek, and gives that one a light slap.

Regina discreetly tries to step forward, tries to have _some_ propriety in front of his son, but when she attempts to move she discovers he’s purposefully standing on the long train of her dress, and without making it completely obvious, she’s not going anywhere.

His fingers squeeze her again, and she feels him shift further behind her, feels the heat of his chest near her back.

Roland continues on, switches topics and tells her about the new sword his papa carved for him, how he’s almost big enough to have his own bow now - because that’s what big boys use - and he can’t wait to shoot all the monsters with it.

He’s such a sweet boy.

 

The same cannot be said of his father.

 

Both of Robin’s hands are on her now, shamelessly kneading the globes of her rear and sliding across them from her lower back to her thigh, indenting his fingers in the center to stroke her cleft through the thin velvet.

Her body is already on fire for him, wants his touch on her skin - _addicted_ she thinks again - but this is not the time - she has somewhere she needs to be and his son is _right here_ and she is going to kill him. She can feel her nipples tighten as one of his hands slides up her back and the other slides down between her legs to rub the underside of her cheeks. She feels his breath against her neck, her ear, and he whispers to her, “Sorry, darling, but you are the definition of irresistible this morning.”

Her breath huffs out, shaky, and his hands are back on her ass, kneading and lifting her, and she should stop him - needs to stop him - but then he slides his hands to her hips, rubs his hard bulge against her, and she bumps back against him before she can stop it.

 

_Jesus._

 

She will not encourage this.

 

Will _not_.

 

Will  _try_ not to.

  


His hands slide from her hips to her waist, up further across her ticklish ribs, and then Roland, who is merely young _and not blind_ , notices that something is going on and he asks loudly, “Papa are you gonna pick ‘Gina up?”

Robin freezes against her, and she smiles. Serves him right.

“I was just checking that the queen had enough to eat this morning, since she missed breakfast with us,” he lies, but it seems to convince Roland because he gives his papa a knowing “Ohhhhh,” and looks her up and down as if inspecting her for emaciation.

She laughs a little as Robin’s hands slide around and smooth over her flat stomach, before he gives her hips a little squeeze and steps away.

Roland informs her that they are off to the stables now, his papa promised him he could ride a big horse today, all on his own. Regina raises her eyebrows at Robin, is happily surprised that his boy is interested in riding, and before she knows what she’s doing, she’s offering up Rocinante for Roland to learn on.

Roland’s entire face lights up with excitement as he begs his papa, who readily agrees while smiling softly at Regina, and then the boy sweetly thanks her, gives her a big hug and wet kiss as she bends down to him.

 

Roland tears off down the hallway, and Robin scolds him for running until he slows to a very fast walk. As soon as he’s around the next corner Robin turns to Regina, passion evident in his eyes as he comes right at her and wraps his hands around her waist, walks her two steps back so she is up against the wall of the corridor.

Her pulse is racing, her stomach flips, and she licks her lips as a hot rush of desire floods her.

He doesn’t waste any time - immediately presses his hot body to hers and claims her lips.

Regina winds her arms tightly around his neck and pulls him hard into her. She opens her mouth the instant his lips touch hers, and he slides his tongue along her teeth, along the roof of her mouth, against her tongue. He pulls back a little and gives her a few soft pecks before he dives in again, and she’s heating up, can feel his hardness against her stomach and she _wants_ him, can feel herself already getting wet. She gets aggressive against his mouth, her lips sucking at his, teeth nipping his top lip and then the bottom one, dragging her teeth across it and biting down just a little before she goes for more. Their tongues slide against each other, teeth clacking just a little, and he rocks his hips against her as he slides a knee between her legs so they can press intimately against each other.

She slides her hands to his thick neck, strokes down the sides and runs her thumbs across the scruff at his jawline, then she pulls back a little, breaks up the deep kiss into lighter, softer ones. They’re breathing heavily with their attraction, and she almost likes these soft kisses more than the rough ones. They are sweet, and careful, and loving - and they make her feel _good_ inside.

 

She could roll her eyes at how soft she’s getting when it comes to this man.

 

Robin pulls back from her mouth, presses his forehead to hers, and they take a second to catch their breath, eyes closed and wrapped up tight in each other’s arms.

“I have to go,” she whispers, “I have negotiations this morning - I’m probably already late.”

He nods against her and steals another soft kiss from her dark red lips. His hands come up to cup her face and he slides them into the loose, dark waves of her hair. She tips her head back a little, kisses the tip of his nose as he threads his fingers through the heavy strands, then he kisses her lips one more time before he steps back.

She watches, amused, as he adjusts himself, frowning, trying to make his erection less obvious. “Are you going to be alright?” she teases, raising an eyebrow and looking pointedly at his groin. She swears she’s not trying to frustrate him, but she’s not doing a very good job of it. She wishes she could take care of that for him - her hands itch for him - she licks her lips.

He gives her this tortured, knowing look, sweeps his eyes over her body and says, “I’m sure I’ll find a way to get through the day, but with all due respect, Your Majesty, _you_ are a non-stop cock tease.”

She barks out a laugh before she can stop it, the sound expelling from her entire chest as she cracks up a little - he’s such an idiot - and then she really has to go - she’s so, so late. She steps into him, kisses his lips and says quietly, “Well, if it’s still bothering you later perhaps we can find a way to make you a little more,” she slides her hand over the front of his trousers, squeezes him, “comfortable.”

He lets out a groan as she kisses his cheek, then she takes off for her meeting - uses magic to fix her makeup, because _fuck it_ \- and she spends the rest of her day warding off James’ advances and wondering if she’s going to have sex with her Thief tonight.

  


God she hopes so.

  


 

* * *

 

  


She’s not so lucky, it seems.

Even with her advantage on James, negotiations go late into the evening. So late, that by the time she finally heads to bed her eyes feel scratchy, her throat is raw from so much discussion, and she has a pounding headache at her temples.

But she got everything she wanted.

And she even got James to drool a little bit, got him to give her a few extra things she didn’t expect.

She teleports to her bedchambers, strips quickly and crawls into bed, asleep before she even realizes she used her magic -  _again_.

 

 

 


	13. The Gamble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aos sí is pronounced ("ees shee") - also, I took some liberties with the legend.

  


Chapter Twelve - The Gamble 

 

 

Regina spends the next day almost entirely with Roland. James and his entourage left late in the morning, and she was happy to see them go, grateful to not play host any longer than she must.

She is sitting with her back to her apple tree, a smile on her face and a piece of half eaten fruit in her hand as Roland runs around the courtyard, shrieking with joy.

He races back and forth, little legs propelling him across the grass, swinging his beautifully carved wooden sword wildly as he slays all the monsters around him.

Regina is trying hard not to laugh as she conjures yet _another_ tiny dragon made of blue smoke, and Roland charges full force at it, swinging the sword wildly and screaming at the top of his lungs. She’s trying not to laugh, but failing - he’s just too cute.

“Another, ‘Gina!” he squeals, and she grins at him.

“Look, Sir Roland! A foul beast approaches!” she gasps, pointing to his left, and when he turns, bless him, she conjures a mini troll out of green smoke. When Roland turns back he jumps in surprise, then throws himself at the smoke monster, swiping madly at it with his tiny sword.

This is by far, the best day she has had in four years, maybe ever. She’s genuinely happy playing with Roland, smiling and laughing and using her magic without fear of repercussion, without waiting for the other shoe to drop.

She could do this every single day, for the rest of her life. Wonders how plausible that is.

As the sun starts to set the boy finally tires, and he drags his weary little body over to Regina, still smiling with triumph as he settles into her lap. She lounges back a little more against the tree, wraps her arms around him and for the second time, she falls asleep with him snuggled safely against her.

 

 

* * *

  


 

Regina wakes late in the evening, well past dinner time, and she makes the decision to tuck Roland into bed without rousing him for supper. He ate so many apples today that she doubts he would even be hungry if she were to wake him.

She carries him back to his bedchambers, walking slowly with the warm weight of him in her arms acting as a balm to her ruined heart as she relishes the interaction that she once dreamt she would have with Henry.  She is good at this, she muses, and it’s ironic that she could have been a loving mother once, had her stepdaughter not devastated her. The famous, rabid temper of the Evil Queen is non-existent when it comes to the boy, her patience without limit, and it grieves Regina that she didn’t get to have this, didn’t get to prove her wretched mother wrong.

She tucks Roland in snugly, kisses his forehead and then slips out of his room. She’s saddened to leave him, doesn’t have anything pressing on her agenda this evening and is disappointed to spend it alone.

 

She latches Roland’s door, turns back into the hallway, and startles.

 

The Thief is across the hall, leaning in the doorway to his room, a knowing smirk on his face.

She takes a deep breath, collects herself. How he manages to be so silent all the time is absurd.

“Good evening, Your Majesty,” he say lightly, cocking his head as he reads her face.

She smiles guiltily back at him, “Yes it is.”

“Care to join me for a friendly game of Ten Spot?” he asks, and she’s really, truly surprised by that question. She hasn’t played the dice game since she was a child, and it’s so strange that he’s asking her this, like they’re old friends getting together for a night cap.

She furrows her brow and looks him over. God he looks good tonight - his cobalt tunic brings out the blue of his eyes and he looks relaxed, calm. She glances down at his hands and thinks again of their time in the throne room, the rock wall, the tent.

A hot shiver runs down her spine as his eyes roam over her, waiting patiently for her answer, and she’s curious, _so_ curious that she just gives up and agrees.

 

 

* * *

 

 

And so it is that she finds herself stripped down to her slip, one stocking, one shoe, and her very tiny underwear at a small table in the kitchen, with a mostly naked Thief across from her.

 

Their dice game started out innocently enough, each of them wagering high and fast, both losing _and_ winning big to start (both risk-takers, surprise, surprise), and it had been fun until they both conceded that she really couldn’t lose - she’s the queen and has bottomless coffers to spend on whatever she wants, while Robin is limited to what he has in his pockets.

So they changed the rules. The loser now has to either answer one question truthfully or remove one article of clothing.

 

Which is why they are mostly naked.

 

Openness and honesty have not been in Regina’s vocabulary for a very long time, and it’s taken three glasses of wine and most of her clothes to answer one, very easy question.

“Favorite color?” he asks.

“Blue,” she says quickly, before she can think, and then she feels foolish - blue, as in the color of his eyes, blue.

He grins, takes his turn, and promptly loses. She tilts her head as she thinks up her question - he’s been a little more giving with answers than she has, and she wants to know him, wants to learn what makes him who he is.

“I have heard that you once shot a hare at four-hundred yards, then murdered fifteen men with a single arrow when they wouldn’t pay the bet. Is it true?”

Robin looks amused - this is the first question either of them has asked that has much to do with anything _real_.

She wonders if he’ll remove one of the two socks he’s still wearing, or perhaps his pants, guesses that he might, but is happily surprised when he answers.

“Mostly,” he smirks, “but it was a stag at five-hundred and fifty yards, and I used two arrows.”

Regina grins mischievously, loves that he has this side to him, that he’s not exactly _wholesome_. Knowing that he has a dark streak makes her like him more, makes her feel connected to him in a way she never felt with Daniel. Daniel was perfect. Was good all the way through, was always the one to pull her away from the dark.

 

She’s pretty sure Robin will not only venture into the dark with her, but he’ll probably do naughty, dirty things to her while they’re there.

 

It’s her turn now so she rolls the die and wins. Rolls a second time, and wins again. He’s starting to look nervous - if she rolls a third time and wins, per their made up rules, he’ll have to take a loss.

She loses. Then again, and a third time, and she huffs out in annoyance. He’d banned her from using her magic to sway the dice and she feels like she’s about to get the brunt of it.

“How did you kill Leopold?” he asks quietly, and the dynamic changes - the air gets charged. Now _that_ is a serious question.

Regina hesitates, considers conceding her shoe. She has never spoken openly about the murder. Hasn’t had anyone to tell, and really it’s not worth talking about - she hated that man and she killed him. End of story. Well, mostly. She chews her lip for another second and then goes for it.

“I hid a viper in his bed.”

Robin grins deviously at her and it sends this odd little thrill down her spine, so she continues, “It got two of his _friends_ before it got him, but it did the trick.” She cracks a smile and takes a sip of her wine. She’ll never forget the dumb look on Snow’s face when they hauled two dead prostitutes out of her father’s bed. Two _male_ prostitutes.

 

Robin takes the dice from Regina and makes his roll - takes three losses in a row and she’s ready with a good question this time - hopes he’ll answer it.

“It’s been rumored that you’re one of the Fair Folk,” she pauses, sips her wine and looks at him over the top of her glass. “Are you?” She hopes she doesn’t sound naive, but he does have strikingly similar traits to what she knows of the legends, and she’s interested in what he’ll say.

The look of surprise that crosses his face makes her wince a little. Yep, stupid question. Stupid, stupid. She drops her gaze and takes another sip of wine, pushes her hair behind her ear.

“What about me would make you ask that?” he asks softly, and there is a seriousness in his tone that has her bringing her head up so she can meet his eyes.

“That’s not how the game is played, Thief,” she challenges, raises an eyebrow.

He looks down and away, scrunches his mouth to one side as his brow furrows. He’s thinking hard, she can tell, and she wonders what it is he will say. Wonders if he _is_ what she asked. The silence goes on too long, and she’s nervous he’ll back out, so she gives in first, her curiosity fueling her as she answers his question.

“You’re fast - abnormally, _ridiculously_ fast,” she starts, and his serious gaze comes back to hers. “Your movements, your footfalls are too quiet - you even managed to slip past Granny on the night we met, and her wolf senses should have easily detected you. Your skill with the bow is... unmatched if we’re being modest. And when you touch me,” she pauses as a hot thrill of arousal and nervousness rushes through her, “I feel… different - warm, and... strong.” She feels awkward about her confession - like she’s exposed too much - so she panics and blurts out, “And you smell of forest.”

He laughs, and it’s a little loud at first but he quickly tamps it down as his eyes sweep over her.

“You’ve missed the most damning piece, I’m afraid,” he says softly, and Regina’s brows shoot up, shocked at his implication. “Ask me why I steal.”

She rolls her eyes as she plays along, asks the question she is certain many others have. “Why do you steal, _Robin Hood_?”

He flexes his shoulders as he sits forward, his bare chest looks so golden and warm in the dim light that she wishes she could touch him. But she must resist - she wants to know, _needs_ to know what he’s going to say.

“To keep them all out,” he says, the protectiveness clear in his voice as Regina tilts her head in question. “Sherwood Forest is a sacred wood, one of the few places in this realm where hawthrones still grow thick and strong, and it is _not_ to be trespassed upon. We used to treat any infringement with severe retaliation - murder, kidnapping, the like. But as you know, that gets boring after a time. Robbery not only varies but works twofold - it strikes fear in the nobility, for all they care about protecting is gold, and it buys loyalty from the peasantry, for all they yearn for is coin. Much more effective than the alternative. And less messy,” he says calmly.

 

She squints at him a little, calls his bluff and asks him if he ever intends on answering her original question.

 

He chuckles softly, leans back in his chair and takes a large sip of his wine. When he sets the glass down, he leans forward a little and fidgets with the dice in front of him, stacking and re-stacking them.

“I’m half - my mum was,” he says finally as he brings his eyes back to hers.

 

And - wow. Things just got very, _very_ real between them.

 

Being half aos sí is not something a person advertises - where Robin is from it’s a very good way to get oneself hunted by clerics and burned alive for heresy and crimes against the king’s religion.

It occurs to her that Robin could have taken off one sock to avoid this question, but instead he chose to tell her. Her heart stutters at the realization.

“Do you have magic?” she asks, completely intrigued - is not well versed in the lore of Sherwood, hasn’t studied on the subject of aos sí other than to have a general idea of what they are.

“Not explicitly,” he shrugs, “I can’t conjure anything, can’t cast. But it runs through me in the ways you mentioned - my senses are above average, my talents to disguise, hide, and move silently are unnaturally developed.”

She nods, understanding. He is a byproduct of magic - is gifted as an afterthought, did not inherit his mother’s abilities.

“And I didn’t slip past Granny,” he confesses, his voice light again - “But she sure fooled you into thinking she was asleep,” he grins, and Regina is a little shocked - her senses are also magically heightened, she is no normal human - she should have been able to tell. “I do believe she was trying to get us alone together,” he smirks.

 

Regina is peeved. That meddling old mutt. “Does she know what you are, then?” she asks him quickly.

 

“Of course she does, darling, even you could smell that I am not fully human - it couldn’t have been more obvious to Granny if I were wearing a sign that said, ‘Sorry, but I left my pointy ears at home.’”

Regina blushes, laughs at his joke and guiltily double checks the shape of his ears. They are round, normal, human shaped ears - _thank god_ \- if she had missed that she would never live down the embarrassment. He catches her checking and cracks a grin, and she laughs at herself. _Jesus_. How is it he makes her laugh so easily?

She takes a deep breath, absorbs the very personal information he just told her. She still has one question she has to ask though, has to know what the answer is, to know if _he_ even knows.

“And when you touch me?” she asks, her voice is almost a whisper and she’s nervous with what he will say, but wants to know if he understands it.

“I’m not entirely sure,” he says softly as he reaches across the table, takes her right hand between both of his. “But I think it might be... it’s possible that our magic is… complimentary.”

The breath slides out of Regina’s lungs a little too quickly. That is... interesting to say the least. It doesn’t _mean_ anything, not really, it’s not like they’re destined to be together or something silly like that, but it certainly is alluring - the idea that when they are together, they literally make each other stronger, more powerful, _better_ in general. It is… enticing.

Regina licks her lips and nods as she let’s her gaze sweep over the man in front of her. His hands are warm against hers, tingly, and now that she understands what it is, it’s exciting to feel the strength jump from his palm to hers, and from hers to his.

 

Suddenly so many things make much more sense.

 

Regina’s brow furrows as the thoughts fly through her head, one stands out in particular and she asks quickly, “When my magic was exhausted - that’s why - that’s why we were naked, isn’t it?” she pauses, _accuses_ , a little short of breath at the idea that he would be so selfless, that he would do that for her. “Did you know you were replenishing my magic?”

His face is very serious as he looks at her, his brow creased and frown lines in his forehead deep. “Not... entirely,” he starts. “I knew when I touched you at Granny’s that it felt… different. And then when you were, well, _dying_ , Granny kept telling me to put my hands on you - made me strip right down to my pants and had me lay against you as she worked on you.”

 

It is suddenly, very, very warm in the kitchen.

 

She knows she has an attraction, an _affection_ for the Thief, for Robin, but the things he did to save her are _beyond_ selfless. The strain it would have put on his physical health to allow her body to steal so much of his magical energy while in such a perilous state would have been brutal. And not only did he manage to do _that_ , he also rode _five days_ supporting her limp body in the saddle, spent _two weeks_ holding tight to her as her body slowly leeched the magic from him so that she could recover.

 

It’s completely insane.

Outrageously stupid.

Incredibly gallant.

 

“Why would you do that?” she asks, her voice feels, sounds rough and slightly skeptical in the quiet kitchen.

 

He looks embarrassed as he shrugs, his neck and cheeks go a little pink as he says, “Because you did the same for us,” she makes a face at him and he corrects, “for Roland at least, and I knew then that…” he clears his throat, “that you were a woman worth loving.”

 

Regina feels her mouth drop open, a wave of anxiety rushes over her and her chest feels tight as she sits up straighter in her seat.

He smiles softly at her, rubs his thumbs over the smooth skin of her hand, his eyes heavy with all that he has told her tonight. She doesn’t know what to say to him, has this urge to say sweet things in return - how much fun she has had tonight, how thankful she is for his honesty, how good he makes her feel, how much she adores his son - but it’s so, so hard to say the words when she is so very out of practice.

He nods at her, understanding, it seems, and she watches as he stands from his side of the table and collects their dice, his articles of clothing. She shakes herself a little and also stands, picks up her dress and slips on the shoe she had lost in their game. She’s not sure how she’ll be able to sleep tonight, with all the confessions he’s given her. There is so much to think about.

She looks up and he’s watching her - she runs her eyes over his muscled chest before she can help it, and she sees his expression change - goes from soft to hot in a second as his eyes sweep over her flimsy slip, and then suddenly he’s dropped what he was holding and is coming around the table.

His hands dive into her hair as he kisses her, holds her tightly to him as he tips her head back and strokes his tongue against hers. He’s so intense as he presses into her and she slides her hands across his naked ribs, strokes up the warm skin of his back and digs her nails in just a little.

He pulls back suddenly, steps out of her grasp so quickly she tips forward with the sudden loss, and he's got his hands linked at the back of his neck as he backs away slowly.

“Robin?” she asks, startled at his actions.

“I'm sorry, I just _had to_ ,” he says quickly, and there is something she doesn't like in his voice, something that sounds like shame. “I um, I understand if this changes your mind about me, about… us. I apologize for not telling you sooner, I just…” his eyes shift guiltily, “I couldn't give you up.” His voice is quiet as he looks up at her from under his suspiciously wet lashes with this pained expression, and oh, her heart just hurts for him.

 

As if she cares what his genetics are. He could be half troll for all she cares.

 

And he just referred to this - whatever it is they've been dancing around - as “us”.

 

She likes him, wants this with him, doesn't want to give him up either. She feels good, confident with her decision as she says seriously, “I didn't ask you to stop.”

His head snaps up sharply and his eyes are red rimmed, so hot with his emotion she feels the burn of it against her skin.

She walks slowly to him, places the flats of her palms against his hard abdomen and pushes him back, back, until he comes into contact with the pantry door. His breath is quick under her hands, his warm chest expanding against her fingers as she steps into him. She strokes her fingers up over his pecs to his collarbone, then up further to skate across the tops of his shoulders, over and down his thick arms, squeezing his biceps a little as she goes, a guilty hum of pleasure coming up from the back of her throat as she runs her hands all over him. Her hands reach his and she runs her fingers over his, then pulls his hands to her and places them low on her hips. She feels his fingers dig into her a little as he squeezes, and she strokes her hands back up his chest to his neck as she leans into him. She slides her fingers around to the back of his head as she tucks her face into his neck and takes a second to just breathe in the heady scent of him.

His hair is so soft, so silky and fine against her fingertips as she traces patterns across the back of his head, and she presses a soft, open mouthed kiss to the pulse point on his neck, sucking just a little as she closes her eyes and presses her chest against his. He’s so beautiful, such a good match for her in so many ways - and it’s terrifying but also, oddly freeing. The idea that her life is not over even though she has suffered such great loss flashes through her, and she pants against the crux of his neck as she drops her forehead to the top of his shoulder.

“Something so simple could not change how I feel about you, Robin,” she admits softly to him, her pulse thrumming with fear and anticipation in equal parts. His hands slide to her lower back as he tightens his grip on her, his chest shuddering with what she knows is emotion. Regina drops several slow, soft kisses to the top of his shoulder, wanting to comfort him, assure him that she is still, very much interested - is more interested than ever now that she knows the whole story.

 

It occurs to her that the scenario would seem ridiculous to anyone outside the two of them, that the most famous thief and the most evil queen in all the realm are sharing an intense moment of intimacy over the concept of being honest with each other, but it is so significant for Regina. It makes her feel like she has a second chance. Makes her feel, for the first time in a very long time, like she _wants_ to see what life will bring her next.

 

He pulls back from her a little and presses his forehead to hers as his hands slide up her back, and his eyes catch hers. Her heart pounds in her chest, she feels the words coming, knows what he’s going to say, but in spite of everything she’s still terrified, can’t quite handle it yet, so when he starts, “I-” she cuts him off with “I know,” and presses her mouth to his.

His hands have just started to creep up the hem of her slip when there is a noise in the corridor, and she pulls back sharply from their kiss, both her hands swirling as her magic redresses them, purple smoke clearing just as the kitchen door bursts open. She’s still pressed closely against Robin, hadn’t gotten far enough in her thought process to step back, and the strange situation shows as the head cook enters the kitchen and abruptly stops in shock, the assistant cook ramming into her from behind.

“Beg your pardon, Your Majesty!” the cook blurts out, flummoxed as she tries to catch her balance, and Regina has to look away so she doesn’t laugh.

Robin grasps Regina’s hand, presses his lips quickly to the back of it and whispers, “Goodnight, Regina,” as he smiles and slips past her and out another door of the kitchen. She stares after him for a second like a smitten schoolgirl, but then the cook clears her throat and starts to ask her if she needs something, and Regina can’t quite fathom the conversation they are about to have, so she uses her magic to teleport to her bedchambers.

She lays awake in her bed for a long time, staring out her windows to the balcony at the twinkling lights of the stars and wondering what on earth she has gotten herself into.

 

And why she can’t seem to bring herself to mind.

 

 

 


	14. The Scar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning - violence and gore here, also unhealthy thoughts

  
  


Chapter Thirteen - The Scar 

 

 

  
It’s the full moon tonight, and Regina is loathe to visit Granny’s.

It’s not that she doesn’t like the older woman - it’s just that, well, she’s a little nervous. Granny may not transform into the wolf anymore, but Regina knows she retains her keen canine senses.

And she’s afraid that Granny will smell him on her.

 

Because she can’t seem to stop rubbing herself against him before she goes.

  


She’s standing next to Rocinante, the package tied across the back of him, and she should go - she _needs_ to go - she’s going to have to gallop the whole way as it is, but _god_ \- she just can’t tear herself away.

Robin has his hands threaded into her thick, black hair, holding her loosely as he tips her head back and fucks her mouth with his tongue. He’s delicious and needy and her hands are on his belt, pulling him closer to her as he shifts to her neck.

“You’ve got to go, darling,” he whispers against her throat, bends her back a little further to suck at the dip between her collarbones.

She mmhmm’s in response, but runs her hands over his tented groin, then slides her hands into his front pockets and tugs him to her.

“Fuck,” he pants against her chest, their hips meet, and he slides his hands down to grab handfuls of her ass, “Are you sure you have to be gone the whole night?” he grumbles as he rocks his hips into hers.

She moans, wants to be here with him - _on him_ \- wishes she could return. She knows she _can_ \- could use her magic to teleport, but it’s not about that this time, it’s that she and Granny have a sort of tradition, and she hasn’t been back since they defeated Snow.

She pulls back and slides her hands across his pecs, up to frame his face as she kisses his lips. God he feels good. So warm, so solid against her. “I have to go,” she says breathless, kisses him once more, then turns quickly and pulls herself up into the saddle before she can change her mind.

She takes up the reins and makes to turn the big horse, but Robin’s hand lands softly on hers so she pauses, looking down from her high seat.

“Be careful, darling,” he says seriously, and her heart does that little flip-flop she’s come to expect when he says sweet things to her. She breathes in deep, nods as she swipes her thumb across his jaw, and then she pulls Rocinante around and tears out of the stable.

  


 

* * *

 

 

  
Regina sips her glass of vodka slowly as she stares into the fire. She feels… different tonight. The drink is still potent, still tastes and feels good as it numbs her tongue and warms her belly, but she doesn’t feel the raw, stabbing pain in her chest, the pain that is constantly biting at her, driving through her like needles. Instead, the pain is dull, a slow ache as she thinks about Henry and Daniel, and it’s the first time she’s thought of them like this and not wanted to die with grief.

She takes another bite of her turnover.

The wolf has already been released, has devoured its prey and they are in the early hours of the morning now. They wait patiently for the moon to set, for the curse to cease so they can retrieve the girl and get her back into her bed before she knows what has happened.

“So, the Thief, is it?” Granny asks her softly, breaking the comfortable silence.

Regina’s face immediately flushes pink, her eyes wide as she snaps them to Granny’s.

 

Shit.

 

Granny smiles at her a little, says, “About time,” and goes back to rocking.

Regina clears her throat. “Don’t be fool, it’s not like that -” she starts, but Granny interrupts.

“I can smell him all over you, girl - _all_ over you,” she throws Regina a knowing look over the top of her glasses and Regina’s blush deepens. Oh god.

Regina opens her mouth to say something, can’t think of anything, and closes it again. She uses magic to refill her drink and takes a large gulp.

The action sharpens Granny’s gaze on Regina and she looks her over hard, raises her brows  as she suddenly looks surprised. “You’re in love with him.” It’s a statement, not a question.

Regina bristles - that chapter of her life has been closed for a long time, and she’s not ready to reopen it. She recognizes that she has feelings for the Thief, but she hasn’t _loved_ anyone in so long, she’s not sure if she’s even capable of it anymore.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snaps.

Granny’s stare grows even more intense on Regina, and it makes her uncomfortable. It feels like the predatory eyes of the wolf, not those of an elderly woman in a rocking chair.

“For such an intelligent girl, you’re being incredibly stupid,” Granny snaps back, and Regina’s temper flares.

“Watch it, mutt,” she growls, her teeth clamped tight together.

Granny laughs softly, shakes her head a little at the queen sitting so annoyed across from her.  “Tonight is the first time I’ve seen you with that scar scabbed over. I wonder what’s been stopping you from picking it open as usual?”

 

Regina frowns.

 

“You’ll figure it out, soon enough,” Granny says simply, and the two women go back to staring at the fire.

  


 

* * *

 

  
  
They track Red down to the river and it’s not surprising, this is a favorite spot of hers to transform back. She lies unconscious under a large willow tree, and they make their way over to her quietly, not wanting to disturb the stillness of the early morning.

As they near her, Granny suddenly goes still - wraps her hand around Regina’s forearm in an iron grip and says, “Go back.” Her voice is stern, serious, and she’s looking hard at Regina.

 

Regina’s confused - this is not how this works, not the routine. Something is _wrong_.

 

“Tell me,” she says, her voice is quiet, but firm.

“Go back,” Granny says again, giving her a little shove, and she can see the panic in the wolf’s eyes.

But Regina’s obviously not going anywhere until she knows what’s going on. She makes to step around Granny, and the stubborn old woman side-steps in front of her, gives her shoulders another push and says again, “Regina. Go. Back.”

Regina has had enough of this game - she flicks her wrists and teleports to the other side of Granny, takes two very annoyed steps, and then she sees it.

There is the body of a child just on the other side of Red, and a little further, near the river bank, lies a small wooden sword that has been snapped in half.

Regina whips her head around to Granny, and the look she gives her makes her stomach drop, a cold chill runs up her spine, she feels nauseous and lightheaded as the blood drains from her face.

 

Roland was in the forest this afternoon with some of Robin’s men. They had not yet returned when Regina left for Granny’s.

 

She turns back, feeling like she’s in slow motion as she runs to the small body, sliding on her knees in the mud as she falls down next it, rolls it over, the dark brown curls wet and matted against the head of the boy, and suddenly the pain in her chest is back, but worse - like an explosion of fire beneath her ribs.

  


It is Roland.

  


A horrible sound makes its way up and out of Regina’s chest, and she’s trembling impossibly hard as she reaches for a pulse. His skin is cool against her touch, one leg is covered in blood as she pulls him into her lap. She cannot find the pulse in his wrist, switches to his neck as his head lolls against her, and she’s aware that she’s crying, begging him to be alive as she tries to calm her shaking enough to feel his blood pump against her fingers.

Granny is there suddenly, kneeling in the mud next to her, and she reaches for Regina’s hand, tugs it away and replaces it with her own, steady one.

“He’s alive,” she declares, and Regina’s eyes jerk from the face of her boy to Granny’s. “Quick girl, get him back to the cabin,” she orders, and Regina immediately wraps Roland tight in her arms and with a swirl of purple smoke, she transports them back to Granny’s.

 

The smoke is still clearing when the front door flies open and Robin charges through it, his eyes wild and full of fear as they sweep frantically around the cabin. She sobs his name from her place on the floor in front of the large hearth, and she watches helpless as Robin’s eyes land on Roland, and his heart completely shatters in his chest.

He stumbles to them, sinks to his knees, and makes the most awful sound she has ever heard in her life as he reaches for his son.

Granny comes tearing in next, starts barking orders to the two of them but neither can move, they are frozen in their terror as they cling to Roland’s little body. Granny drops down in front of them, shakes Robin harshly and says, “He’s alive but we’ve got to move” - and she’s shoving hot water and towels at them as she cuts Roland’s pant leg open with her dagger. Robin starts wiping the mud off of Roland, searching for additional wounds as Granny has instructed, and Regina pulls his little shirt up and over his head, flinging mud and debris in her haste.

They wipe him down thoroughly with the warm water, checking everywhere - his hair, his armpits, _everywhere_ for bite wounds - he has a few shallow scratches on him but aside from one of his legs he is unblemished.

Regina’s eyes fall to the deep wound that Granny is dabbing at with a fresh, clean towel as she pours warm water into it, flushing out flakes of dirt as the water and blood pools all around them. She has tied a tourniquet around Roland’s little thigh but the blood continues to run, and Regina knows that this is bad, the blood should be stopping, should at least be slowing, but it’s not.

  


This is death, she thinks.

  


Robin is shaking, tears running down his face as he wraps his son in dry towels to keep him warm, his little body snug in his lap as Robin rains kisses on his forehead, whispers soothing, sweet words of love and bravery and pride to him. Granny suddenly grabs Regina’s arm and jerks her toward the wound, settling her hand down right on top of the torn flesh.

“Heal him,” she orders.

Regina freezes. She hasn’t tried to heal anyone since -

 

Daniel. Since Henry.

 

Granny reaches up and grabs her shoulder, shakes her hard - “Regina you must do this,” she commands, and she can hear Robin pleading with her - _Please fix him, oh god, please Regina_ \- and she hates herself, _hates_ herself because she knows she can’t.

 

She can’t fix him.

 

She can’t fix anyone.

 

Regina snatches her hand back into her chest, feeling panicked, feeling terrified and useless, feeling _worthless_. What good is magic? What good is she?

Granny’s not giving up though, she grabs for Regina again, frames her face in her strong wrinkled hands and smooths her tears away. “You can do this girl. You _can_. We _know_ you can do this, don’t we Robin?” she says - Robin agrees - and Granny’s voice is so, so serious - not pleading, just _sure_ \- she is so absolutely sure of herself that Regina wants to believe that she can do it. Wants to have the faith in herself that Granny has in her.

 

She will at least try.

 

She reaches for Roland’s little leg, her hands trembling as she places them gently on the wound. She closes her eyes, concentrating hard, the _tick-tick-tick_ of Granny’s clock loud against the silence of the room. She feels a swirl of magic in her blood, her fingertips tingle, and she tries, she begs the magic to come, just a little, enough to at least stop the bleeding, but her hands tremble and then go numb, and nothing happens.

Regina lets out a tortured sob, drops her head in shame. “I can’t,” she says, “I’m sorry.”

There is a hand at the back of her neck then - it’s Robin - his fingers knead her softly, and he strokes his hand gently down her back. “I have faith in you,” he says quietly, and he’s not pleading either, he sounds as sure as Granny. “You can do this, darling.”

She shakes her head at him - he doesn’t understand. She would give anything to be able to do this, but she’s just not _capable_. She tried so hard the last time, gave it everything she had, and she had failed four years ago, just as she is failing now.

 

She has never been able to heal with the aptitude she has to destroy.

 

But he doesn’t give up, continues softly, “Roland loves you so much, and I _know_ that you love him too.” She nods, she does, she loves Roland, but love did not save Henry, did not save Daniel. “I know it’s not fair, and it’s terrifying, but sometimes you have to fall apart in order to discover what you’re made of.” he says softly, running his fingers through her long hair, and she closes her eyes to his touch.

“So long as you live in the past, Regina, you’ll never find your future.” Her eyes meet his, and she feels like he’s looking right at her black heart - looking right at it and accepting it.

 

She wants to believe him, wants so much what he is offering her.

 

They hold eye contact, and he rubs his palm firmly across her, eliciting the familiar warm sensation that spreads from his hand into her shoulder blades. It grows and grows, the heat slides along her skin, wraps around her and she shivers as his strength seeps into her. Her magic starts to churn, starts to spark, and then suddenly flares to life with so much force that purple light flashes around her for a second as she pulls it up.

She can do this - she can.

 

She _will_.

 

Regina runs her hands over Roland’s wound again, and she feels so, so powerful this time, can feel the magic racing around in her blood, in her nerve endings, and she channels it forward, trying again, murmuring the healing spell as she slides her glowing fingers over Roland’s shredded leg. To her amazement, the flesh begins to knit back together beneath the brush of her magic, and she concentrates harder, gains confidence - she’s not just going to heal him, she’s going to make sure he’s absolutely perfect, that all evidence of the wound is removed, that he is as whole as he was before the bite. Her magic shimmers and swirls from her palms as she waves them over him.

It takes a few minutes, but when she is finished the wound is completely, beautifully healed - barely a scar to show for all the trauma.

  
Regina rocks back on her heels, shocked at what she was just able to do. But there is another, almost greater concern, and she asks Granny quietly, “What about the curse?”

Granny cocks her head and stares at her for a beat. “Now I thought that would be obvious, girl,” she says, her eyes knowing behind her thick glasses.

 

Regina looks from Granny to Robin, who still looks terrified, knows that his son is physically healed but that he’s now destined for lycanthropy if they can’t stop the curse. She drops her eyes back down to the small boy, his sweet features, and her heart throbs for him, because Robin was right - she loves this child so, so much.

She shifts around, reaches for Roland and Granny instructs Robin to let her have him. She pulls him into her lap, her arms wrapping tight around him as her emotions get the better of her, breaths coming fast and hard, chest tight as she squeezes her eyes shut, trying to collect herself. Roland is so, so good - is everything good that has happened to her.

 

Roland and Robin - they are her _reasons_. Nothing else matters, nothing is as important. And she finally realizes what she must do.

She lets go of her hatred for Snow White, lets go of the “Evil Queen”, slams the door on the abuses of her past - they no longer matter, because they are no longer her reasons.

These two people, Roland and Robin - they are her everything, they are right there with Daniel and Henry, and she is sure of this, is absolutely sure of the love she feels as she drops her lips to Roland’s forehead and kisses him.

  


A prism of light shimmers out from where her lips touch him, and a wave of white energy floods the cabin, shoving Granny and Robin back a little with the force.

There is absolute silence, then movement in her arms. Regina’s eyes open as Roland turns to her and wraps his little arms around her neck as he whispers, “I love you, ‘Gina.”

 

 

 


	15. The Trust

 

Chapter Fourteen - The Trust 

 

Despite the magical healing that Regina administered to Roland, it still takes him a few weeks to recover from the attack. He was weak from all the blood loss, and then had to fight off a turn of pneumonia, thanks no doubt, to the low body temperature he had had when they discovered him. Regina makes sure that he has every benefit of being the queen’s favorite little boy as he heals - that he receives only the best herbs and medicines, gets all his favorite foods, several new toys, and she reads to him every evening - as many books as he can stay awake for as they snuggle up in his bed in the room across the hall from Robin’s. She’s well aware that she’s spoiling him and makes no excuses, knows that she’s treating him as much as she’s treating herself, _healing_ herself.

He falls asleep early tonight as she reads to him, a ridiculous story about an ungrateful girl who won’t eat her porridge and winds up getting eaten by bears (serves her right), and Regina slips quietly out of his bed. She slides her slippers on and adjusts and reties the belt of her long black cashmere robe. She takes a few minutes to just watch Roland sleep, so grateful for him, so thankful for Robin and Granny, and for the first time in a very long time, her magic.

She slips quietly out into the hallway, notices the soft glow of light from Robin’s closed door, and hesitates. She wants to see him, hasn’t talked with him much since Roland’s attack - both their focus has been on the boy and ensuring his full recovery. She steps up to the door before she can convince herself not to, and knocks softly.

She hears the scrape of a chair and the unlocking of the door, then he pulls it open to her. He smiles immediately, the lines around his eyes crinkle handsomely as he greets her, “Regina.”

 

She’s suddenly nervous.

 

“I um, just wanted to say goodnight,” she says softly, dropping her eyes as she tucks her hair behind her ear. She’s a little embarrassed that she didn’t plan this out better. “Roland is asleep,” she smiles, “it won’t be long before he’s tearing down the corridor again,” she jokes as she brings her eyes back up to his.

His gaze is heated, intense on her, and he sweeps it slowly over her body before he swallows thickly and simply replies, “My god, you’re beautiful.”

A breathy laugh escapes her, breaks the tension, and she reaches for his cheek. She rubs the pads of her fingers across his scruffy jawline and steps into him as her hand slips around the back of his neck. Regina pulls his head down to her, her heart pounding-pounding-pounding as she tips her mouth up to his and gives him a slow, lingering kiss.

His hands land softly on her waist, sliding up and down against the soft fabric as she breaks the kiss and rests her forehead against his.

“I have something for you,” she says softly, heart fluttering, and he pulls back a little to catch her eyes, his brows raised in question. He cocks his head toward his room and at her nod, he steps back a little, pulls her forward with him and they slip into his bed chambers. He closes the door quietly behind her.

She uses her magic to procure the package she has for him, and it appears in her hand with a small swirl of purple smoke.

“What’s this for?” he asks, taking the finely wrapped package adorned with golden ribbon.

“I just, wanted to thank you,” she says softly, “for believing in me.” It’s hard to say the words - makes her feel vulnerable, but this is Robin and he’s already seen her at her worst, at her weakest.

He squints a little at her and drops his eyes to the package as he starts to unwrap it. He’s in a sleeveless white shirt and trousers, his feet bare against the Persian rug. Her mouth runs a little dry, she’s such a sucker for those thick arms. She forces her gaze elsewhere, takes the opportunity to sneak a look at his room - she’s never been in here before.

The room is tidy and nothing really stands out, except for the large desk at the back wall. He’s making arrows, it seems - the wide, polished surface is littered with tools and unassembled pieces - wooden stems, feathers, metal tips, a large roll of bowstring. She smiles - it’s such a _Robin_ thing to be doing this time of night.

He finishes unfolding the paper from around the gift, and she watches, hopeful, as he runs his fingers delicately across the beautifully engraved surface.

“It’s enchanted,” she supplies, “An arrow fired from this bow will get you exactly what you want - it always hits its mark.”

He looks up at her, his eyes very, very serious as he asks, “What if what I want is standing just in front of me? Should I take the shot?”

 

Regina’s heart flips over.

 

Her pulse is pounding and she’s breathing too quickly - it feels like her entire life, every trial, every tribulation, has led her to this one moment. She lets her gaze travel across his handsome face - his strong jaw, his lips, the smile lines around his mouth and next to his eyes, the worry lines at his brow. She finally allows her focus to settle on the bright blue of his eyes.

 

She feels _whole_ when she is with him. _Strong_ when he touches her. _Loved_ when he smiles at her.

 

She is afraid, is terrified of investing in someone again, of exposing what’s left of her heart and having it shattered, isn’t sure she can survive it. But she also knows that not having someone - that’s the worst curse imaginable.

And the only way to overcome fear is to face it.

 

“Absolutely,” she says.

 

His face breaks into an incredible, beautiful smile as he sets the bow down carefully and closes the distance between them. He wraps his arms around her, one circling tight around her back and the other sliding through her dark hair to the nape of her neck as he leans in. She grins as his mouth descends on hers.

The kiss is deep, their heads tilt in tandem and Regina presses her mouth firmly to his as he tightens his arms, hugging her to him. She pulls his top lip between hers, his scruff tickling a little as she sucks and nips at his mouth, his tongue diving in to stroke along hers, to thrust and flick and lick against the sensitive flesh. It is beautiful and perfect and Regina can’t remember a time when she felt quite like this - she can feel the broken pieces of her heart pulling back together, like the tightening of stitches between the squares of a quilt.

He kisses and kisses her, and she can’t stop the smile on her lips as he pulls back and rubs his nose against hers, kisses her cheek, her brow, then returns to sweet, soft kisses against her hungry mouth. She runs her hands along his bare arms, across his back, his waist, living in the feel of him, arousal starting to flare in her as her fingers run the flat planes of his stomach, the waistband of his pants. He relocates both hands around to her back, slides them over the soft fabric of her robe, and then his hands slink around to the knot of her belt. She squeezes his biceps as he plays with it, leans in and sucks his bottom lip before she moves to the side, places hot kisses against his jaw as she works her way down to his neck.

He drops his head so he can see what he’s doing as he unties her robe, and her breathing hitches as he slides it slowly down her shoulders, dragging the soft fabric against her flushed skin, until she is clad in only her silky black nightdress.

He takes a half a step back and rakes his hot eyes over her. The air whooshes out from him as he stares at her, and she smirks at his reaction - the nightdress isn’t even _that_ risque - it hits her just above the knee, the sweetheart neckline is supported by thin straps, and the fabric drapes across her lightly, flowing and smooth against her skin. But he’s looking at her like it’s some sort of special, sexual fantasy that she’s just made come true, and she has to bite her cheek to stop from laughing at his wide eyes and open mouth.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, skimming his hands across her shoulders, down her arms, and back up, licking his lips as he watches his hands on her.

“That’s the first thing you ever said to me,” she breathes teasingly.

He grunts a little, his eyes glued to her body as he runs his fingertips across her collarbone, teases across the tops of her breasts.

“ _Jesus_ , Regina,” he exhales harshly, “Your body should be studied for the impact it has on the opposite sex.”

She laughs softly, he’s such an idiot, but then he moves into her, his mouth going straight for her pulse point as he slides his hands over her hips and down to her ass.

 

She stops laughing.

 

He feels so good, so warm, against her. His hands squeeze and slide over her the globes of her ass, up to her lower back and then back down again as his mouth sucks against her neck, licks down and across her chest, his saliva cooling quickly and sending a shiver across her that tightens her nipples in response. He runs his hands up her sides and around to cup her breasts through the thin material, swipes his thumbs over her sensitive peaks, and she digs her fingers into the muscles of his triceps as he massages and teases her.

She runs her hands down his back, wanting to feel more of him, wanting the heat of his skin directly on hers, and she bunches his shirt under her fingers, dragging it up until he lifts his arms and she pulls it from him, lets her eyes fall to his muscled chest, and a hot surge of anticipation flares in her sex.

 

 _Mine_ , she thinks.

 

She pulls him closer as she sucks kisses into his collarbone, her hands smooth over the thick muscles of his pecs and defined lines of his abs, fingernails scratching lightly as she slides them across the skin just below his navel. She gets bold and dips her fingertips inside the waistband of his trousers, stroking the smooth skin - he pants and brings his hands up to slide through her thick hair, and he tugs a little, brings her mouth back up to his so he can kiss her hard.

He tilts her head back with the heat of his kiss, sweeping his tongue deep into her mouth, and she brings her hands up to stroke his muscled forearms, sliding up his biceps to the tops of his shoulders. He bends his knees a little, and his hands slide down her body, down, down. He circles his arms around her and then suddenly he’s lifting her up, arms locked just under her ass, and she makes this high pitched girlish sound as he hefts her easily, her arms wrap loosely around his shoulders as he turns her toward the bed and walks them toward it. She kisses him deeply, hands sliding through his hair and along his neck as the black waterfall of her hair curtains down around them, and then suddenly she’s tipping back-back-back and she squeals again as she lands flat on her back, his big body on top of hers as they bounce against his mattress.

He crawls up the length of her, his hands stroking as he goes - her thighs, her stomach, across her breasts, and as he settles over her she catches his eyes, and her heart spasms with the open, reverent look he’s giving her.

“I-love-you,” she whispers quickly, the words spilling from her lips before she can stop them. Her heart slams against her sternum with anxiety, but she had to tell him - _had to_ \- couldn’t hold it in when he looks at her like _that._

He strokes his fingers across her brow, smooths her dark hair from her face and tucks it behind her ear. He leans in and kisses her lips softly, soothingly, pulls back a little and strokes the apple of her cheek with his thumb as he whispers _I love you too_ against her lips.

He kisses her deeply and she arches up against him, wanting, needing to have him against her, skin on skin - she reaches for the laces on his trousers and she can feel his body tense with anticipation as she pulls the ties loose. He helps her shuck his pants down and off, then she reaches for the hem of her nightdress and pulls it over her head. They are naked against each other, and he rolls them to the side so they can lay together, foreheads touching as their hands stroke over the smooth planes of skin they have bared.

Her hands are a little shaky against him - he feels incredible next to her, and she could do this, wants to do this, with him every single day. She tips her chin up and kisses him softly, slips her tongue between his lips as she takes time to explore. His hand trails down her side, strokes over her hip, slips around to squeeze the swell of her ass, then down further to the back of her thigh. He pulls her leg up to him, hooking it over his hip as he shifts his body closer to hers, and she can feel his hot, hard length pressed against her stomach. His fingers coast along her thigh from knee to hip, swirling and scratching his blunt nails into the skin a little as he lets his hips move forward to bump against her. And oh - that feels - that’s wonderful.

Anticipation rushes up her spine, gooseflesh breaks across her entire body as a hot thrill of desire throbs in her clit, and suddenly she _needs_ him inside of her. She tightens her leg against his hip, pulling him closer, sliding her hips up a little, wanting to line them up. He bumps her hips again with his, and he brings his hand up to stroke along her throat, over the top of her breast, pausing to pinch and swirl over the tip of her nipple, knead her breast, but then he reaches for her hand, brings it to his mouth and kisses her knuckles.

“Do you trust me, Regina - trust me completely?” he asks softly, pulling his head back a little to make eye contact.

She nods, says, “I do.” And she means it. How could she not?

He kisses her again, then leans away, reaching behind him for something, and she is so, so curious where he’s going with this.

When he rolls back into her, he’s holding something in his hands.

It’s a long strand of hemp. One of his bowstrings.

Her brow furrows in confusion, and then a hot wave of arousal surges through her already wet sex as her eyebrows shoot up.

 

Oh god.

 

He can’t mean - oh - _oh my_.

 

He reaches for her hands, stroking his fingers over her, placing soothing circles against her soft skin as he makes his way to her wrists. He places her left wrist on top of her right, and brings the bow string up.

 

Her heart hammers in her chest. She has never, _ever_ allowed someone to do this.

 

It’s not that she couldn’t escape if she really wanted to - her magic could easily free her from such a trivial thing, but it’s the trust that goes with it - to give him complete control to do as he will with her, because _he_ trusts _her_ not to break free, and _she_ trusts _him_ to take care of her.

Dear god, she just needs a second to think, isn’t sure if she can do this. She takes a deep breath through her mouth, in and out, shifts her eyes to his, and decides.

 

She lets him tie her hands.

 

He rolls her so she’s flat on her back, and he slides his hands up her arms, pulling them up, up over her head. He ties off the bowstring through a rung of the headboard, and then slides his hands back down to cup her face. He kisses her hard, moaning into her mouth as he says, “Gonna make you come so hard, darling - _trust me._ ”

She takes a deep shuddering breath, trying to relax, to do as he says and really, truly trust him, trust herself.

He shifts so that he’s straddling her hips, sitting back against her thighs as he strokes his hands over the mounds of her breasts. His touch is so warm, so wonderful against her that she immediately arches up to him, and he skims the pads of his fingers barely, just barely, across the tips of both her nipples. The tiny, erotic touch spreads through her, and she sucks in shuddery little breaths as he does it again, and then again, teasing her with the touch that will stimulate but not satisfy.

Her chest heaves as he slides his fingers around and around her areolas, pebbling her nipples, then he pinches them simultaneously - she moans, lets out a needy _Ooooo_ as he plucks at them a little roughly, swipes his thumbs across them a few times and then moves down to cup and squeeze her mounds again. He tips forward, dropping kisses over her chest, then slides lower still and aligns his mouth with her breasts as his tongue sneaks out to flick against her left nipple.

 _Oh god_. He feels so good already. She can feel the slickness in her sex, can feel herself start to drip a little as he continues to lick and kiss and nip at her breasts. He pulls a nipple into his mouth, rolls his tongue around and around it, and his hand grasps her breast tightly, squeezes her and pulls the thick flesh up toward him as he suckles her hard. Pleasure shoots directly to her clit, and she moans loudly as he pulls back slowly and lets the hard bud <pop> from his mouth. He leans in again and flicks it with his tongue, then slides to her other nipple and copies the actions. She moans again, her breaths short in her excitement.

“ _Fuck_ , Regina,” he pauses to lap at each hardened nipple again, pressing her mounds together so he can hit them both on the same stroke of his tongue, and she lets out a little gasping whine. “I love the sounds you make when I suck on you -” she takes in a sharp breath - “can’t stop thinking about the way your sweet tits bounced when you rode me the first time we fucked.” He huffs out a hot breath against her skin, brings his hands to his mouth to wet his thumbs, then drops them to her hard peaks and strums rapidly over them. “Can’t stop picturing the way my spunk dripped down your chest, the way you moaned when I rubbed my come all over your nipples.”

She squirms under him, her arms pulling at the bowstring as she rolls her hips up against his weight - her sex is soaked, her clit on fire, and her nipples are aching and sensitive in his mouth under the thorough ministrations of his tongue.

He brings his head up and grins devilishly at her, his gaze hot and his cock rock hard and erect against his stomach. She wants to touch him, wants to swirl her tongue around him and show him just how talented _her_ mouth is, but she can’t yet, she’s stuck where she is - all she can do is lick her lips in anticipation as she eyes him.

He slides down further, works slowly down the smooth sensitive skin of her stomach - she breaks out in gooseflesh against the feather light swirls he makes with his fingers as he drags his tongue across her and sucks hot kisses from one hip to the other. When she arches under him, he nips at the curve of her ribs, sucks on the sensitive skin and strokes his open palms firmly from just beneath her breasts to her hip bones.

He shifts back again, settling back between her knees as his palms press against her inner thighs, and _oh god_ , he’s spreading her wide, so wide open, and she’s a little annoyed with her superior flexibility as he exposes her.

She watches his cheeks, his neck flush as he ogles her sex, and she feels a little insecure, has never had a man _stare_ at her the way he is, but then he licks his lips, bites the bottom one hard, and gives her this completely hungry look that sets her pulse racing and has her hips thrusting up to him as he settles over her.

He slides his legs back and leans down into her, drags his tongue through her dripping sex as his hands hold her thighs wide. He kneads the muscles of her legs as he laps slowly at her, running his tongue lightly across her swollen, needy petals. She moans - whines - she’s so sensitive and wet and his tongue is only making it worse - teasing her but not getting her off. Her breaths are coming fast and hard with the anticipation, and she wants him to give it to her, to let her come so she can feel like she has some semblance of control again instead of being a quivering, soaked mess under him.

“Robin, _oh god_ ,” she says, and her voice is low, rough with her need. She pulls at her restraints a little, rolls her hips up to him.

“Patience, darling, patience,” he soothes, but he drops his whole mouth to her and sucks, pulls her outer lips into his mouth as he suckles and scrapes his teeth lightly across them before returning to run up the center of her. His scruff scratches lightly against her, and she shivers as his tongue dips in and out of her opening before he clamps down on her and sucks. Her hips are swiveling, rocking a little, out of her control and it feels incredible but she’s clenching so hard on absolutely nothing and she needs more, needs him to rub her clit, at least sink one finger into her, or she’s pretty sure she’s going to go insane with the hot desire running through her.

She pulls at the bowstring again - and she gets it, gets what he’s going for with this, because she is completely at his will and it’s so fucking hot - knows that if her hands were free she would not be able to stop from touching herself.

She rolls her hips up toward his mouth and his hot breath rushes against her wet, swollen folds. “Love how you taste,” he moans against her, runs his tongue through her again, again, again. “Wanna fuck you so bad,” and he sounds like he’s pleading with her, so she says _Yes - Oh god_. He sucks on her clit, rubbing hard and fast on it with his tongue, and she gasps loudly, moaning as her hips rotate against his mouth - _god yes_ , that’s what she needs, the pleasure he’s creating pushes her up, up. He shifts one hand over from her thigh, slides two fingers through the hot creamy need she’s making for him, and then he slips them up and into her. She groans, throws her head back and makes tight fists against her tether - _jesus that’s good_ \- and she tells him _Yes_ , begs him for _more-more!_

“So tight - _fuck_ -” he moans as he slides his thick fingers in and out of her, and everything feels amazing, his tongue goes back to licking at her clit, sucking it in and swirling with the tip of his tongue as his fingers thrust deep into her, and she’s rocking her hips hard, the muscles in her stomach and thighs starting to tremble with her arousal. He tips his hand a little, changing the angle of his fingers inside of her, and _oh jesus_ he hits _that_ spot and she jerks toward him, her back coming off the mattress as she lets out a quick, desperate, “Oh god - right there!”   

He doubles down on her and works his fingers hard, fast inside of her, stroking that white hot flame as the pads of his fingers tap against her sensitive spot, his lips sucking and sucking on her clit, and she’s positively writhing, panting hard and whimpering little _huh-huh-huh’s_ as his fingers drive into her.

Robin pulls back from her clit with a sucking smack of his lips. “ _Christ_ you’re so wet, it’s all over my hand, your thighs, darling, you’re soaking.” He thrusts his fingers quick-quick-quick, “Can’t wait to watch you clench on my cock, gonna stretch you so wide when I fuck you.” He brings his other hand in, spreads her outer lips and starts rubbing her clit with firm circles, while the fingers of his other hand fuck vigorously in and out of her. She’s panting, gasping, and it feels so good, _oh god_ \- she’s getting tighter and tighter on his hand, her thighs positively trembling. He makes this little whine and her eyes open, slide down to watch him and she catches him as he stares at his hands moving on her, in her, with this look of complete rapture on his face as he says quietly, almost to himself, “ _Christ_ \- I’m such a lucky man for you to love me,” and then his eyes drift up to hers and that’s - oh god, _that’s it_ \- his sweet, beautiful words are what does it - her sex rushes hot, she tightens, tightens around his fingers, spirals up, her clit _throb-throb-throbs_ under his vigorous fingers and she throws her head back, eyes slamming shut as she arches back and the hot rushing wave of her climax slams into her body. He works her hard, thrusting fast, switching the rubs to flicks across her clit as she spasms, clenches hard on his fingers, a sob of pure ecstasy escaping her as she pulls against her restraints, her thighs spreading even wider and quaking as the pleasure inside her soars up, up, and radiates out - through her breasts, her chest, up the back of her neck, down her legs, and her desire pours from her sex, soaking his sheets, until finally the pleasure is too much, and she gasps out _stop, stop_ as she shudders and shakes beneath his hands. Finally, carefully, he slows his thrusting fingers, strokes her softly a few times, then slides them from her, replaces them with long, sucking kisses of his mouth. He runs his tongue all over her, lapping up the mess, suckling her swollen folds and pulling another little shock from her, another twitch and clench of her inner muscles, as he slurps obscenely and moans against her saturated sex.

 

Her chest is heaving and she’s having just a touch of trouble catching her breath as his mouth slows against her, his hands spanning wide as he rubs his palms over her thighs and pulls up from her. He immediately crawls up her body and unties the bowstring, unwraps her hands and rubs her wrists gently, and he’s so sweet, so considerate that she needs to kiss him, needs to tell him she loves him again.

She reaches up to stroke his shoulders, rolls them so that she’s laying across his chest, her heart pressed against his as she looks down into his face, her hair sliding over one shoulder as she looks into his eyes. She strokes her hand over his brow, cups his jaw and leans in to kiss him, noticing his chest is heaving just as hard as hers - he’s just as turned on as she is.

God, she loves him.

She slides her leg over him until she is straddling him, and she uses his chest as a brace as she shifts back to her knees, his hard length rubbing tantalizingly against her sensitive, swollen, wet sex.

Robin seems content to watch as she runs her fingers over his chest, cataloging the way he looks, the way he feels under her, the heat of his body so comforting against her. She wants to make him happy, wants to give him whatever he wants, whatever he needs. He is her _reason_.

She thinks for a second, a wicked thought flits through her and she gets excited. She knows he loves her ass but doesn’t think he’ll ask for the position - at least not tonight, they’re raw and open with their confessions - but she wants it anyway, knows he loves her and she doesn’t want him to be gentle. She digs her nails in a little as she runs them down his sides.

“Oh god,” he breathes below her, studying her face. “I’m in for it now, aren’t I?”

She grins down at him, slides her wet sex across his cock where it’s trapped between them, and he shivers. She slides off his body and stretches out on her stomach next to him, tucks a pillow against her chest, turns her face to his, wiggles her ass at him and says, “I want you to fuck me just like this.”

He moans, a rough _Fuck yes_ slipping from his lips as he sits up immediately and shifts around behind her. She feels his hands stroke up the backs of her thighs to her ass, squeezing and spreading her cheeks, then he leans forward and drops hot, wet kisses down the length of her spine. His lips are fantastic against her, but she knows - _knows_ \- it’s her ass he likes most, so she thrusts up a little at him, let’s her voice go breathy as she whines, “Oh, Robin.”

“ _Fucking Christ_ ,” he says as he slaps the muscle lightly. She feels the bite of his teeth against her cheek and she jerks a little.

 

 _Naughty boy_.

 

His breathing is rough behind her as she spreads her knees wider, feels his hand brush against her as he guides his cock to her dripping entrance. He swirls the head of it against her, coating himself with her slippery juices, and then he slides in - just an inch, then out - repeats this several times and it’s got her twitching and thrusting wantonly at him - she wants him in her _deep_ \- but he’s teasing her and it’s amazing but also so, so frustrating.

“Robin…” she rasps, warns.

“Patience, darling,” he repeats his words from earlier, and god, she wants him. Wants him so deep in her. He does that little trick again where he penetrates her just an inch, but she’s had enough of this, she needs what she needs and she’s too keyed up, can’t wait - so she surges up, slams her hips up and back against him, impales herself on him all the way to the hilt, moaning loudly as he hits her deep.

“Oh-Fuck-Regina-ahhh!” he cries out, and she knows she’s shocked him - doesn’t care - loves the way his voice went desperate and shaky so she immediately starts moving, rocking hard back against him as she braces on her forearms, her ass up and hot, slick tunnel tight along his thick length.

His hands suddenly slap against the sides of her ass as he grabs a hold of her, and then he’s back in the game, he’s giving her everything, thrusting **hard-hard-hard** against her, shaking the bed with his thrusts, driving her forward as she tries to brace, tries not to fall face first into the sheets with the force of his hips. He pounds relentlessly into her, driving so deep, and he’s hitting a different spot in her but it’s making her positively _gush_ her need every third or fourth thrust, the slick wet sounds loud against their harsh breaths and the slap of his skin against hers. She’s sweating as he works her, as her skin flushes hot, _hot_ , under his hands, her thighs bracing and hips moving counter to his movements, her breasts swaying beneath her as he drives harder-harder-harder, and _fuck_ she’s going to come soon, going to come ass up in his bed if he keeps working her like this.

He slows down, gives her a few lazy strokes as his hands glide over the globes of her ass and then she feels him shift. By the time she turns her head to see what he’s doing, he’s got his knees on the _outside_ of her legs, shoving her hips down flat into the bed as he sits on her closed thighs and strokes his hard length back into her.

 

And _oh jesus_. It’s, wow, its so, so good.

 

Regina arches her back as he rocks, long, slow, incredibly tight and deep into her, both his hands pressing down on her ass, completely stopping her from being able to rock or thrust back against him - and that’s payback, she supposes, for the little stunt she pulled earlier.

“Your arse is fucking perfect,” he rasps as he slides into her wet cunt. His fingers spread her cheeks wide apart and he swirls his fingertips against her rear entrance, moaning as he teases her, pressing his digits softly against her opening but not penetrating, just playing with her as he thrusts slowly into her. He strokes his fingers down the cleft of her cheeks and gives her a sharp slap, her hips jerking under him with the sting. She’s flooding his cock inside of her, can feel the hot slick fluid rush from her with the kink of what he’s doing, knowing he’s staring at her, knowing how much the view is turning him on. “Gonna fuck you here,” he says, and his fingers are wet as they press against her rear opening, almost - _almost_ slipping in but not quite, he’s such a fucking tease. He rubs and rubs his wet fingers around her sensitive hole in time with the thrusts of his cock as he fucks into her, as he hits that sensitive spot inside of her and her clit throbs with pleasure - she’s so wet from this, is so hot for him. She wants him to penetrate her everywhere, wants him inside her _wherever_ he wants. _However_ he wants. _Whenever_ he wants. She’s on fire with her desire for him.

He tilts forward and slides one hand around to her throat, stroking up the column of it to her mouth. He grasps her jaw and slides his thumb roughly against her bottom lip, and she nips him as he rocks his hips, thrusting deep. “Gonna fuck you here too,” he rasps, sliding his thumb into her mouth. She sucks hard at his thick digit, swirls her tongue over him as he moans and raps his hips against her sharply, his cock sliding fast in and out of her dripping channel, enhancing the hot flaming desire blooming within her. He pulls his thumb from her mouth, dragging her bottom lip down roughly as he goes, and he gathers her long hair up, twists it around his left hand as he pulls her head back gently and leans in close to her ear.

“Everything about you is fucking perfect -” **thrust** \- “your hair -” **thrust** \- “your eyes -” **thrust** \- “your lips -” **thrust** \- “tits” - **thrust** \- “your hot, wet, cunt” - **thrust-thrust-thrust** \- “ _Christ_ Regina, I’ve been thinking about fucking you for _days,_ could come just _looking at you_.”

And oh, he’s so, so good. Her pulse is racing and she’s panting hard under him, taking the tight slide of him deep, deep into her at the slow pace he has set. His mouth is so, very filthy and she loves it, can’t get enough - everything he says makes her hotter, spirals her up, her chest flushing with heat, nipples and clit throbbing with every word he whispers to her.

He kisses her ear, her cheek, and then he sits back, lets the thick strands of her hair trail through his fingers as he goes, and then he slips out of her, grabs her by the hips and flips her onto her back. She lets out a little _Oh!_ in surprise, but then he slides between her thighs, crawls up her body, and gives her lips hard, intense kisses.

He pulls back, rubs his nose across hers, and she’s breathing his air as he pecks her lips, strokes his thumb across her swollen bottom lip and says, “Have to see your pretty face when I make you come.”

She moans, and he positions himself at her entrance as her thighs fall flat against the mattress, and god, she wants this - this position is so, so intimate. She wants to watch his face too, wants to kiss his lips when he comes, and oh, she clenches hard at the thought, her hard nipples rubbing against his chest as he slides in.

He starts rocking into her, bracing on his elbows as he drops kisses to her lips, her neck, her chest, and it’s wonderful - he’s so hot above her, he hits her sensitive spot and she’s soaking him with need, knows that she’s making a mess of his sheets but can’t care - they’ll sleep in her bed if they have to - and she meets each of his thrusts with one of her own, swiveling a little as they meet. He’s panting above her, sweat breaking across his chest, his brow as he speeds up, and Regina runs her hands across his back, down to his ass and pulls him harder into her.

“You like it when I go deep? Want me to fuck you harder?” he rasps. And _jesus_ , she moans desperately as her hips jerk up against him, gasps out _Yes!_ against his neck as he increases speed, hooking one of her knees over his elbow as he pistons in and out, their skin slapping loudly as he fucks her. She slides her hand down, starts rubbing circles on her clit, and she’s so, so sensitive, _oh god_ it’s not going to take long now - she flicks her fingers over her swollen bud fast-fast-fast. He looks down and catches her touching herself, and his hips stutter, lose rhythm against her for a second as he moans out “ _Oh, fuck yeah_ ,” and he leans to one side so he can watch her rub her clit as he penetrates her.

He leans back suddenly, gets to his knees between her thighs and swats her hand out of the way. He grasps her hips and pulls her down the bed to him, her knees bending slightly with the quick action. He grabs her pillow from earlier and slides it under her ass, tipping her pelvis up to him, then he strokes his hand down her right thigh to her knee, wraps his fingers around her smooth calf and starts pulling her leg up, first to rest on his shoulder as he presses a hot kiss to the inside of her ankle, and then further, pressing her leg forward until it’s straight and tilted back slightly toward her chest as he holds her ankle. He strokes his fingers through her wet folds, then slides forward and guides himself into her, and oh god, he feels huge this way, she’s stretched tight from the way he’s moved her legs and his already thick girth is stretching her further, and it feels so good, so hot, that she can’t help the needy moan she makes as he sinks in deep. Robin slides his right hand over her stomach, caresses across her flat abs and then down to her mound, stroking over her in feather light swirls, then he slides his thumb down to her clit and rubs slow little circles against the tight bud.

And _god_ \- he’s amazing, so hot as he starts to rock his hips against hers. He increases in speed - the head of his cock hits her _just right_ and she jerks up, her hips immediately tipping up to him, thighs opening on their own as she lets him spread her wider, and he pushes her leg forward a little more, stretching her even tighter on him, and _god_ \- she’s never going to last in this position, she’s so close already, her fingers twist the sheets viciously as the pleasure builds. The new position keeps his hand steady against her clit as he rubs a little faster, faster, and the constant stimulation is immense as he rubs and fucks her and presses sucking kisses into the side of her ankle as he leans forward to thrust harder, harder, until he’s pounding harshly into her with her leg stretched up over his shoulder.

The noises she’s making now are nothing short of salacious - long moans, and high pitched gasps, and quick, breathless _uh-uh-uh’s_ as he pistons his thick length into her and rubs his thumb rapidly over her clit. Her breaths start to get short, she’s spiraling up, has been up there for what feels like forever, _jesus_ , and she can’t stop, she’s already tingling all over, her nipples tight as her breasts bounce wildly with his hard thrusts, and her clit is starting to throb, trying to push her over the edge as he works her. She’s trying to hold back, isn’t ready for this to be over, wants to hold out as long as she can, but then Robin looks her straight in the eyes and whispers, “Come for me, my queen,” and she just fucking _fractures_ on him - a loud, long cry of pleasure escapes her throat as she bucks up, twists her hips as his thumb thrums over her clit, he drives deep and hard and fast, and she’s clenching all around him, so, so tight, spasming and milking his cock as he continues to thrust, and her nipples are so rigid they almost hurt, the pleasure completely streaking through her as she gushes all over him, the hot liquid flooding their sexes as she comes, the wet sounds absolutely explicit as he moans above her, but she can’t stop coming, he’s still pounding and she spasms hard on him again, can’t stop fluttering and squeezing him inside of her, his sheets getting scorched by her palms as her magic flares too - and suddenly he slows, cries out, “Oh, fuck, _Christ, Regina,_ ” and he starts to pull back, but she grabs his bicep, slides her leg off his shoulder and pulls him down tight to her, hiking her legs up around his waist as they come chest to chest, and she rasps, “ _Stay.”_  

He moans, kisses her hard, quick, and resumes thrusting rapidly, deep, so deep into her as she pants _ah-ah-ah!_ with each slide of his cock. She’s so sensitive, has just barely made it through her orgasm, but it’s incredible - she feels so insanely sensitive that she’s not quite sure if it feels good or if it hurts, but she wants it either way. He increases his speed - slamming roughly into her, **_hard-hard-hard_ ** and she arches up under him, grasps his chin and pulls his lips to hers to kiss him hard, their tongues touching for a moment until she pulls back, meets his eyes and begs, “Come inside me, Robin.”

He groans loudly, his whole body immediately shudders and he comes hard, his thrusts deep, and he’s pushing his whole body into her - burying himself in her, fucking into her so hard that she’s sliding up the bed a little with the force. She grabs at his shoulders roughly, tips her hips up and spreads her legs wide to receive what he’s giving her, feeling the hot, thick gush of his come as he spills into her, and all she can think is _Mine!_ as she whispers in his ear, “ _Oh, god - give it to me, Thief._ ”

He makes this low growl from somewhere in his chest, and it’s so masculine, so Robin. She imagines how it’s going to feel when his come runs down her thighs, and she knows she’s going to want _more_ \- as much as he can give her - wants him to come in her every minute of every day, and her inner muscles flutter, then clench hard in a hot aftershock as she throws her head back, thinks she just might pass out from the pleasure.

Finally, Robin slows, his strokes go long, slow, and then stop completely, but he doesn’t pull out, and she doesn’t ask him to. They are panting, breathing hard but too wrapped up in each other to care. He drops down so they are chest to chest and leans in to kiss her deep, sliding his tongue into her mouth and stroking against hers. She kisses him back with everything she has, and although her legs and arms are still shaking a little, she wraps herself around him tightly and clings to him like her life depends on it - and maybe it does - _she knows it does_ \- he’s the one who has pulled her back, who has loved her back to life and made her strong again - and her chest heaves as she shudders under the pleasure and pure emotion of their lovemaking.

 

He tucks them into his bed, pulling the heavy blankets up and around them as he slides to her side and wraps his arms around her. She smiles softly and rolls a little, puts her back flush to his chest and tucks her knees up against his so that he’s spooning her tightly.

He kisses the back of her head, drops kisses to her bare shoulder and neck before he settles down behind her and strokes his hand across her stomach. She’s ticklish and it reminds her of the first time he did this, so she playfully slaps at his hand and he laughs, whispers to her, “I don’t suppose you’ll believe the body heat story this time, will you darling?”  

She cracks up, shakes with laughter and they’re both giggling like teenagers, tears running down as she shakes her head at his foolishness - he’s such an idiot. But he’s _her_ idiot, and she loves him for this, loves that he makes her laugh and smile and feel so very good inside all the time. They settle down eventually, and he holds her tightly against him as they fall asleep, completely wrapped up in the moment, wrapped up in each other, wrapped up in love.

 

 

 


	16. The Epilogue

  


Chapter Fifteen - The Epilogue 

  


 

Robin’s wolfsheads, it seems, are good for a multitude of things. Not only are they fierce protector’s of Regina’s castle, their ability to gather intel and execute missions of secrecy are unmatched. With their support over the past year, Regina has been quickly reclaiming her title of the most powerful ruler in the realm, and this time, the moniker of ‘Evil’ is not even attached. It has been replaced with ‘Ingenious’, ‘Adept’, and even ‘Omniscient’.

This is how she discovers the wizard Merlin is passing through her kingdom, and with the help of her most favorite Thief, she comes to possess a very special magical item.

  


 

* * *

 

  


Granny is blatantly surprised to see her when she rides up on Rocinante at midday on the eve of the full moon. The old woman gets up stiffly and comes out of her garden, wiping her dirty hands on her apron as she cocks her head and looks Regina over. A small smile spreads across the wolf’s face.

“What?” Regina snaps, and Granny’s smile widens, turns into a full grin.

“I didn’t expect you until later, Your Majesty,” she says with raw amusement in her voice. “That color is becoming on you, if you don’t mind me saying so,” she continues, and Regina rolls her eyes.

She’d selected a powder blue riding jacket, a white silk ruffled shirt, tan leggings and knee high brown leather boots today. Not her usual dark color scheme but she’s been finding black to be a bit boring - it doesn’t seem to match her mood very often as of late. Her hair is twisted back in a double braid and she feels good, is excited to give Granny the item she has procured for her.

Regina slides down out of the saddle and Rocinante grunts, shakes his head as he steps away to take a sniff at Granny’s garden. As he steps over to it, Granny makes a small noise in her throat and Rocinante jerks his head, annoyed, and saunters off to the tall grass to graze instead.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Granny asks, and Regina hands her the gift wrapped tightly in brown parchment paper. “Not the usual package, I see,” Granny mutters as she takes it and starts to open it.

As the paper falls away, it reveals a bright red cloak. Granny looks at it curiously, unfolds it and holds it up in front of her as she turns it about, inspecting it with her eyebrows raised.

“For Red,” Regina says softly, catching Granny’s eyes. “It will stop the transformation.”

Granny, for all her harsh features and age-old wisdom looks…

 

_Stunned._

 

Regina smirks. “I’ve tested it, reviewed the enchantment. It _will_ work,” she says quietly as Granny’s eyes water.

Suddenly, unnaturally fast, Granny wraps Regina in a fierce hug. The breath squeezes from her lungs at the strength of it, and she reacts naturally, lets the old woman hug her close and even allows herself to hug her back.

Granny pulls back sharply, places her hands on each side of Regina’s face and kisses her cheek, her temple, then pulls her back into another hug. Regina’s eyes are watering now too - she chalks it up to the tight squeeze from Granny - knows it’s more than that but will not admit to it - as Granny whispers harshly to her, “Thank you, girl. I knew you were still in there - knew you’d come back to us.”

 

Regina steps back quickly, the emotion is too much and while she’s making progress, she still isn’t used to this kind of talk, this kind of compassion.

“Yes, well,” she clears her throat, “I suppose I won’t be seeing you on the full moon anymore,” she says thickly, breathing in through her nose sharply. It is _not_ a sniffle.

“I certainly don’t see why not,” Granny snaps, and it breaks the emotional tension in the air, “I’ve got about three years worth of vodka and those turnovers aren’t going to eat themselves.”

A breathy laugh rushes from Regina’s lungs as she smiles at the older woman, nodding. “I suppose that’s only fair,” she says softly, and Granny reaches for her and grasps her hand tightly.

“Of course, you’ll have to leave the vodka to me for awhile, won’t you, girl?” she says with the most wolfish grin Regina has ever seen cross her face, and she looks dumbly back at her for a second before the words sink in.

 

Regina’s jaw drops open, her eyes going wide as she looks stupidly down at her abdomen, as if expecting to see something.

 

Granny laughs loudly, pats Regina’s cheek roughly and turns back to the cabin with the red cloak clutched tightly in her hands. “You deserve this, Regina,” she says softly as she walks up to the house and leaves the queen standing in the yard like a complete fool, her palms spread wide across her flat stomach, mouth hanging open in pure shock.

  
  


* * *

 

  
Roland jumps the conjured cross-rail easily and is grinning at her before Rocinante even hits the ground. He’s good at this, has a natural talent for riding and has taken to the sport quickly. Regina watches proudly from the side, smiling broadly, openly, from her place against the large oak tree where Robin has them wrapped up in his cloak together to ward off the light breeze of the cool fall day as their son gallops along to conquer the next hurdle her magic creates.

Robin’s hands stroke across her stomach softly, reverently, just as in awe of the soft swell as she is as he tucks his face in against her neck and presses soft kisses against her skin.

She leans back into his body heat, soaking up the comforting strength he provides her, strength that she has come to learn she provides right back to him, and her soul feels peaceful, her magic feels settled. It is not the life she imagined she’d have once, not the path she chose to take when the decisions all seemed so far out of her grasp, and she still mourns Daniel, mourns Henry, but does not pine for what could have been anymore. She is happy, is content, is so lucky with what _is_ \- with the reasons she has now, and the reason that will soon be. She is loved and is learning to love - it’s not something she has known how to do very well but she’s learning, is trying hard and getting better at it as she teaches Roland how to to ride, how to read, as she falls more and more in love with him every day. She is learning as Robin teaches her to release her stress in healthy ways - in passionate lovemaking and comforting touches; as he listens to her and lets her vent without judgment, as he soothes and advises and challenges her. He is teaching her to love as they spend time together, as they read and play dice and go horseback riding - as she gets to know him deep down to his soul - and she sees herself growing into the woman she should have always been - fair, compassionate, and strong.  

 

She isn’t perfect, doesn’t always make good decisions - her tongue is still too sharp and her temper can run hot in an instant, and she doesn’t pretend to be a hero, doesn’t try to be something she’s not.

 

But she’s not a villain either.

 

Watching her son ride her most favorite horse, grinning with excitement as he shows off all that she has taught him, with her husband’s arms wrapped snugly around her and a new life growing inside of her, Regina is completely, absolutely sure that this is where she is supposed to be.

  
  
_This_ is her happy ending, and she would have it no other way.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers:  
> Not mine - if they were, they would do this stuff all the time.  
> As an avid fanfic reader, please understand that any similarities to other works are pure coincidence and absolutely not intended.  
> I don't have a beta, I own up to all the mistakes and will try to correct them when I notice them.


End file.
